A Way Through The Darkness
by jumpertrainer
Summary: Peter and Neal have just closed a big case in time for Christmas, when Neal suddenly goes missing. Lots of whumpage...some spoilers...
1. Chapter 1

I don't own White Collar or the characters, just having some fun with them until January.

**Author's Note: I have reworked Peter and June's conversation. Thank you to Ultracape for pointing out a little discrepancy.**

Chapter One

The morning air was cold, and it hit like little razor blades across his face as he stepped from the warmth of his town house. The low gray clouds threatened the snow that the weather man had been predicting. He pulled his dark gray wool overcoat tighter around himself and smiled. Not even the weather was going to dull his good mood this morning. There was a slight skip in his step as Special Agent Burke headed for his car. It was only two weeks until Christmas, and this year was going to be special. He whistled to himself as he unlocked the car door. A smiled crossed his face as he thought of his plans for the evening. He was looking forward to surprising his ex-con turned consultant by taking him along to pick out this year's Christmas tree. He, and his wife, Elizabeth, already saw Neal Caffrey as family, and it was about time they started treating him like it. The smile never left his face as he drove in to the office.

Peter could feel tension in the FBI bull-pen as soon as he opened the glass doors. The team should have been happy; they had closed a huge case the night before. One of the city's major crime bosses was finally going to jail, and they looked to have an easy case load for the next few weeks. He glanced at Neal's empty desk as he walked through the room. Peter was early today, but Neal usually beat him to the office. No matter, he told himself as he kept walking, Neal wouldn't be late. Neal was never late. Peter gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and headed up to his office to finish the paperwork he had left from last night. He was still whistling under his breath as he removed his coat, and took his seat behind his computer.

There was a knock on his door that made him jump slightly as it broke his concentration.

"Come."

"Peter." The door opened to reveal Agent Diana Barrigan. She was tall and slender, and fairly attractive. Peter had worried about her when she was a Probationary Agent, but now she was a trusted member of his team.

"What's up Diana?" He didn't even look up from his computer screen. He wanted to get this report finished and on Hughes's desk so he could leave early.

"We have a problem." It was more the tone of her voice than what she said that made Peter tense. When his eyes met hers, he felt a knot form in his stomach.

"Neal?" He didn't want to know the answer, but he saw the answer in her eyes.

"He's cut his anklet. It went offline around midnight."

"Midnight?" He was furious as he jumped up from behind his desk and started pacing. "Why weren't we informed earlier?"

"The Marshall's tracking system was doing a software update last night at midnight, and nobody noticed the discrepancy until this morning."

Peter felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Neal had seemed so settled lately. What could possibly have possessed him to cut his tracking anklet? He stopped pacing to push a hand to his temples to keep back the headache that was trying to form. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Neal could be so stupid sometimes. Now, he had blown it. There would be no more second chances, they would throw him back in jail this time, and there wouldn't be anything that Peter could do to stop it.

"I'm going over to check his apartment." Diana offered, as she watched confusion, hurt, and anger flash across her boss's face.

"Alright. I'm coming with you." Peter grabbed his coat, and led the way out of the office.

Peter approached the three story white stone house. June, the caring widow who owned the house had taken a liking to Neal, and had been renting her upstairs apartment to him. It was more than an apartment though. It had one of the best views of the city. It was a mini palace, with its fashionable décor and antiques. It fit Neal's personality to a tee, and he and June had become quite close. Peter was a little taken back when the front door opened before he could knock.

Peter found himself face to face with June. The woman's face looked unusually tense.

"Peter. I'm so glad you're here. I was just on my way to find you. Something has happened to Neal."

"He's running June. He's cut his anklet, the Marshall's received the signal." Peter watched the older woman consider his statement. Her face only grew more hardened, and her eyes narrowed as she looked him over before answering.

"No, he's not running Peter. I fear something worse has happened to him." She paused, and took in a long breath. "You need to see his apartment."

.

Peter noticed that June hung back behind them, as he and Diana approached Neal's apartment. He could feel the cold air coming from under the door. That was odd. He gave Diana a cautionary look as he pulled his sidearm, and held it with one hand at his side, while pushing the door open with his toe.

"Boss…" The tone in Diana's voice matched the thoughts in Peter's head. Panic churned in his stomach as he took in the scene he was staring at.

The small dining table and chairs that normally stood in the middle of the first room were turned over. The paintings on the wall now hung crooked. All the contents of the kitchen counter were strewn across the floor. As Peter cautiously stepped into the room, sending Diana around the other side of the table, he heard the sound of broken glass under foot. He looked down to find the stem from a wine glass, and what was left of a bottle of wine, just in front of him. The wine had created a puddle around the broken glass shards. Peter bent down and felt the stain on the floor. It was almost dry.

"Boss, you need to look at this."

Peter looked up to find Diana standing in front of the glass doors to the balcony. As he crossed the room to join her, he felt an uneasiness starting to creep into the back of his mind. One of the doors had been shatter. Most of the glass was lying on the stone floor outside. Peter found it hard to swallow as his eyes rested on a puddle of blood on the far side of the balcony. Lying amongst the blood and glass was a large chopping knife and small black object.

"It's Caffrey's anklet." Peter just nodded when he heard Diana's statement. He wasn't sure he could move. The anger that had had him leaping out of his desk was now replaced with fear and guilt. Had he actually doubted his friend when in fact his friend was in danger? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

"Call Jones. Get a team out here. And bag that knife." He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Neal was gone, and Peter had no idea who had taken him.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own White Collar or any of the characters. Just having a little fun with them until January!

Chapter Two

His head was throbbing. He could feel something warm and sticky running down his cheeks. He tried to open his eyes but they just didn't seem to work. There was a pain in his side that matched that of his head, and he felt nauseous and dizzy. He pulled on his hands, only to find them tied tightly behind his back. The effort made ripples of pain and nausea roll through his body. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and clenched his jaw. He could feel himself drifting in and out of sleep, and he wanted to give in if only to relieve the pain.

"Well, well, well." The voice was familiar, but he wasn't sure it was real. He could feel the pain drifting back, and he tried to block it out. He wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep was painless. He could hear footsteps now, coming closer.

"Mr. Caffrey. So glad you could join us."

Neal lifted his unsteady head and managed to pull his eyes open. His vision was blurred and he couldn't see the man's face. He felt the man reach out and grab his hair, jolting his head backwards. He fought to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He was losing his battle with consciousness, and shivering, he felt himself drifting back into the darkness.

_He was sitting at the table in his apartment at June's. A bottle of __Bruno Giacosa Barbaresco was open sitting in front of him, as he sipped from the wine glass in his hand. There hint of cedar and plums as the warm liquid slid down his throat, and he could feel the tension of the day being pushed from his body. What a day it had been too. He couldn't say that he didn't enjoy the undercover work. But today he was especially glad it was over. He had only been undercover for a few days, but it had been a long few days. The stories that he had heard about this particular crime boss were enough to make anyone's skin crawl. At least the man was going to prison, and he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore. He would toast to that, and refilled his glass . _

_A knock on the door interrupted his reverie. He stood, and carefully crossed to the door. The four glasses of wine making him have to move very slowly, bracing himself on the doorjamb before unlocking and opening the door. He jumped backwards, thrusting his hands above his head at the sight of a silver Colt M1911 being pushed through the opening. _

"_How'd you get in here?"_

"_Shut up and turn around." Neal heard a second set of footsteps come through the door, as he turned his back on the man with the gun. _

_He slowly moved his way towards the table, where his cell phone was hanging in his jacket pocket. If only he could get to it. June wouldn't be home until the morning, so no one would hear the commotion unless he could contact Peter. He had just talked with Peter, all he had to do was push the send button._

"_Stop moving. I didn't tell you to move." He heard the second set of footsteps coming closer, quickly now. He turned his head just in time to see a smaller man leap for him, knocking him headfirst into the table. He stopped his fall with one of the chairs, throwing it backwards at his attacker, before moving around to the other side of the table._

"_Ricky…shoot him." The smaller man whined. _

"_Shut up Angelo. Boss wants him alive. Just do your job and get him." The larger man glared at his partner._

_Neal watched as Angelo moved into the kitchen, grabbing a knife out of the butcher's block, before coming back towards him. Neal reached down and took hold of the table, flipping it at the shorter man as he got close, turning to flee he found himself looking down the barrel of the Colt._

"_Come ON, Angelo…you can take this skinny punk."_

_Neal turned away from Ricky, pretty sure he wasn't going to shoot him, at least not yet. He watched as Angelo drew near, grabbing the wrist with the knife, trying to hold it off of himself. Angelo wrapped his other hand around Neal's, quickly pulling down and across, spinning Neal. He stumbled forwards, drawing the man back towards the kitchen. He spun himself, with the other man wrapping around his back, and slammed him back into the wall, hoping to knock him free. Angelo yanked Neal off balance, sending him flying into the kitchen counter as he lost his grip. He slid off the counter, desperately trying to stay on his feet, he stumbled forward. He could feel something warm starting to trickle down the side of his face. A large rough hand grabbed him around the back of the neck, pulling him forward._

"_You want to do this the hard way huh?" The voice was deep and gruff. It could only have been Ricky's. He was having trouble keeping his feet under him as the hand pulled him faster and faster, fingers digging into the sides of his neck, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly he felt himself picked up off his feet, he hung there for a minute before being thrown forward, crashing through the glass doors that led to the terrace. He landed face down on the white iron table. He tried to shake the haziness from his vision. He had to stay alert if he was going to survive this. He pushed himself up and turned as he heard footsteps coming from behind him. Just has he faced Angelo, the man brandished the knife again. The alcohol and adrenaline weren't enough to mask the pain as the thin blade pierce his side. He opened his mouth to scream, but the breath caught in his throat as he felt his body fall to the ground. _

"_You dumb shit. ALIVE...remember?" Ricky grabbed the knife from Angelo and cut the tracker from Neal's ankle._

"_N…o…" Neal could hardly hear the words come out of his own mouth. The pounding in his head was getting louder and everything was going black. He felt someone start to pick him up as he passed out._

A hard slap across his face brought Neal back to reality. His head swimming in a circle on his shoulders, he clenched his eyes tighter trying to force himself to breath.

"Time to wake up Mr. Caffrey. The boss man wants to have a word with you."

He slapped him again, and again, until Neal finally opened his eyes. He squinted, trying to focus. Ricky stood in front of him, he had on a mostly clean grey t-shirt, but his jeans were stained with what Neal could only assume was his own blood. Another figure he couldn't make out stood in the shadows a little ways back.

"I bet he's pissed at you huh?" Neal smirked as best as he could. Ricky was staring down at him, his green eyes emotionless. A cold shiver ran through his body. The pounding in his head was coming back.

"Mr. Caffrey." The man from the shadows approached. Neal didn't recognize him, but assumed he had to be one of the "big" bosses. A camel colored cashmere ankle length coat hung from his shoulders, revealing the brown Zenga three piece suit, and perfectly pressed white shirt underneath. He slowly pulled his brown leather gloves off his hands, uncovering his manicured callus-less hands.

"You need to have a talk with your boys. Explain the difference between 'alive' and 'alive for only a few more hours'." Neal smiled as best as he could, trying to keep his head steady looking at the two men in front of him.

"Oh…Mr. Caffrey…I don't mind the 'only a few more hours part'…You see, that is part of the plan." The man gave a slight shrug and grinned. "I just wanted to be able to see you suffer for myself, before you met your maker."

"Well…in that case…I'm glad to oblige." Neal could feel his body quiver from the pain and the cold, and was thankful when the darkness over took him.

Peter sat at his desk with his head in his hands. It had been nearly twenty hours since they had lost Neal's tracking signal. He looked out through the glass front of his office, and watched his team wearily go about the task of analyzing the evidence from Neal's apartment. Nobody had wanted to go home. Neal had become a huge part of this team, and he was still out there. And he was hurt. Peter tried to shake the thought of the blood from his mind. How long would Neal be able to hold on? There was anger boiling in him now; anger at himself for doubting Neal, and anger at them men who had him. He, like the rest of the team, could not bring himself to leave, not until Neal was safe. They were just about out of leads, but Peter wasn't going to give up. Neal was still alive, he hoped desperately.

"Boss." Peter heard Diana enter, but didn't lift his head.

"Boss…we have a lead. The lab matched one of the partial finger prints we lifted off the knife in Caffrey's apartment."

Peter looked up at her hopeful. His eyes were bloodshot from the stress of the day. His hair was ruffled, and he no longer looked like the composed senior agent that he usually was.

"Rickie Gallo." Diana handed over the file she was holding to Peter, and continued without waiting for an answer. "He's been on our watch list for a number of years, but nothing was ever able to stick. He's suspected of being a gun for hire. Organized Crime believes that he may be connected to the De Luca crime family."

Peter's eyes hardened with recognition as she said the name. "That son of a bitch." He slammed a fist down onto his desk out of frustration, nearly spilling the now cold cup of coffee he hadn't drank. How had he been so stupid? How had he missed this? He should have known, he should have protected Neal. Neal was a friend, no Neal was just about family, and he was part of this team. How could he have just left him unprotected like that?

"Boss…you couldn't have known. We all thought Neal had gotten out without compromise. They must have set the hit in motion before we took them down yesterday."

Peter just stared down at the file. There were a million places in this city a crime family could hide a body. No, he shook his head. Peter refused to think of it that way. Hide a captive, that's what Neal was. They were going to get him back alive. But he had no idea where to start looking. They couldn't just search every abandoned warehouse.

"Get someone on the phone with Organized Crime. We need to start putting together a list of known properties, and hang outs."

"I'm on it, boss." Diana turned and left the office. Peter watched her go, and then turned his attention to the file she had given him.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that he was cold, deathly cold. He could feel his body shivering. The more he shivered, the more the pain started to come back. If he could just lie still, maybe the pain would go away. He clamped his eyes tighter, hoping to will the pain away. Nausea swiftly swept through his body, causing the pain in his side to increase. He wanted to curl an arm around his stomach, but realized they were still tied behind his back. But, he noticed, he was no longer sitting in a chair, he was laying face down. He rolled carefully to his good side, waiting until the nausea dulled before opening his eyes. Fear filled his mind, as he realized he was lying in a snow bank. His slacks and turtle neck were now soaking wet. He had to get up before he froze to death. He carefully tried to get to his feet, but fell face down in the snow again. His feet were numb, and his legs didn't want to work.

"He…llll…p." His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. He looked around, but couldn't see anything but snow. He could feel himself sliding back to the darkness, and he was almost glad. There was no pain in the darkness. As tempting as it was, he knew he needed to get up. If he let himself pass out, he knew he wouldn't wake up again.

His numb fingers fumbled at the rope binding his hands with no luck. The knot was frozen solid. He struggled to his knees, hoping this time his legs would work. If he could just get out of this snow, Peter would find him. Peter. Who was Peter? He shook his head, he wasn't sure, but he was sure Peter would find him. As he struggled to his feet, he surveyed where he was. He could see water behind him, and a large snow drift in front of him. He didn't recognize the place. Voices…he heard voices. He hoped they weren't in his head as he struggled to climb up the snow bank in front of him. Every step he took sent another wave of pain and nausea rolling through his body. As he got to the top of the snow bank he could see a chain link fence not far down the other side. Just pass the fence was an old brick building. There were lights on. As he took the first step down, he felt his knee give out from under him. He hit the snow hard, and couldn't keep himself from tumbling down to the bottom of the bank, his body finally coming to rest up against the cold metal of the fence. He could feel the darkness coming again, and this time he couldn't hold back.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own White Collar, or any of the characters. I'm just having a little fun with them until January!

Chapter Three

Peter would have yelled at Diana for entering his office without knocking if he hadn't been so tired. It was 10 am, they were nearing 36 hours since Neal had disappeared, and he hadn't had any sleep. When it had started snowing at midnight, Peter had been frantic. If Neal was out in the weather, there was no way he could survive. Now, he felt hopeless. Organize Crime had been no help. The few leads they were able to offer up hadn't turned up anything. They had searched more than 10 buildings, and countless dirt lots, but they still came back empty handed. Peter desperately wanted to arrest Ricky Gallo, but they had nothing. He wanted to strangle the very life out of the man. He shook his head to clear his mind, and turned his bloodshot eyes towards Diana.

"Tell me you have something."

"NYPD called." Her face was sullen. Peter felt his breath hitch and he braced his hands against the desk.

"They found a body matching Caffrey's description out at Old Howard Beach."

"A body?"

"First Responders weren't on scene yet. We don't know anything. The team's heading out that way."

Diana had to run to keep up with her boss as he descended the stairs two at a time and headed for the elevators.

The area was congested with ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers when Peter pulled his Taurus into the parking lot at the marina. He didn't wait for Diana, or the rest of his team before running to the police barricade.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't be in here."

"Peter Burke. FBI." He flashed his badge as he ducked under the yellow crime tape.

As he reached the backside of the ambulance the EMT's were just approaching with the stretcher. Peter looked down at the young man. One leg of his charcoal slacks was now stained burgundy. Blood had dried in little rivers down both sides of his face. The right side of his face was swollen, and multiple shades of blue, green, and yellow were starting to appear. His near black hair was matted down, and little balls of blood soaked snow clung to it. Under the oxygen mask, Peter could see that his lips were blue.

"Neal…" Peter felt like he had swallowed a brick. The young man, who had become like family to him, lay in front of him unconscious, and barely breathing.

"Sorry sir. We have to get him out of here." The EMT put an arm across Peter's chest in an effort to move him out of the way.

"I'm coming with you."

"Sorry sir. I can't…" Peter flipped out his badge again to stop the EMT.

"That man is my Partner. I'm going with him." Peter watched as an understanding smile crossed the older EMT's face.

A finger lightly brushed against Peter's hand as they loaded the stretcher onto the ambulance.

"P…tr…"

"I'm here Neal."

"new… f..nd..me."

"Yeah…I found you buddy. You're safe now."

Peter paced the ER waiting room. It had been nearly four hours since they had admitted Neal, and there still wasn't any word. Diana and the team were still at the marina trying to find evidence to tell them who had done this. So far, they had found nothing. Every time he had sat down to try and rest his eyes, the sight of Neal's blood covered face kept creeping back to him. The walls of this little room felt like they were closing in on him. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from trembling. He wanted coffee desperately, but didn't dare leave and miss the doctor.

"Peter." Elizabeth's soft voice floated to him from across the room. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. How's Neal?"

He didn't turn to face her, he wasn't sure he could look her in the eye. How could he tell her what had happened? What he had let happen?

"No news. Eliza…"

"It's alright Peter." He felt her hands softly on his shoulders, turning him to look at her. "This isn't your fault."

"I should have protected him El." His voice sounded strange to him. It was quite and weak.

"You couldn't have known, Peter."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her long brown hair. It was good to have her here. He had longed for her comfort, her understanding. She was the only other person who knew what Neal had become to him, because she felt the same way. For so long, they had only had each other, and that had always been enough. But now there was Neal. The ex-con had wormed his way into their lives so completely; neither of them could imagine life without him.

Soft padded footsteps caught Peter's attention. He looked glassy-eyed over to the entrance of the room. Standing in the doorway was a man in blue scrubs, carefully drying his hands on a towel. He was young, Peter thought as he looked him over. His tawny brown hair was damp with sweat, but yet there was a calmness in his eye.

"I was told to look for Agent Peter Burke?" The man looked at Peter questioningly.

"That's me." Peter released Elizabeth from his arms, but kept one of her hands in his.

"I'm Dr. Matthews. I'm Neal's surgeon." The man waited until he saw Peter nod before continuing. "Let me start off by saying that Neal is now stable and in the I.C.U."

Peter nodded again, slowly lowering himself down into a nearby chair. The utter relief made way for the exhaustion to set in.

"Agent Burke, while he may be stable, Neal is still in critical condition. He had a 4 cm wide puncture wound between his 8th and 9th rib. Although it narrowly missed his liver, it did cause him to bleed out extensively. His right orbital socket is severely fractured, but there does not seem to be any injury to the eye itself. He had a depressed fracture to his frontal lobe and a 6 cm laceration above his right ear. His core temperature when he arrived in the ER was 86 degrees."

"What does that all mean?" It was Elizabeth that asked. Peter could not find his voice; he just sat staring at the doctor in shock.

"Well…basically…it's nothing short of a miracle that he is still alive. We have closed the wound in his side. He is being administered plasma to replace the lost blood, and raise his blood pressure. We have repaired the orbital socket as best we can, stitched the laceration, and lifted the fracture in his skull. We have been keeping warming blankets on him, and have raised his temperature to 94 degrees. He is being kept on a Morphine drip to control is pain level, but he is currently in a coma, most likely due to swelling in his brain, and he is on a ventilator to help him breathe.

"Alright. What does that mean?" It was Peter who spoke this time, his words laced with frustration.

"It means we've done all we can for now. These first twenty four hours are critical, but we won't know if there has been any brain damage until he wakes up."

Peter nodded, and let the information settle in. Brain damage. The phrase kept repeating itself in his mind. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't bear the thought of Neal being anything other than his normal annoying, self confident, narcissistic self.

"He's in room three in the I.C.U. Down the hall to your right, first left, and first right. Just past the elevators." The doctor nodded to Elizabeth, and excused himself.

"Honey, go see him." Peter felt Elizabeth gently rub a hand over his shoulders. "I'll get some coffee and meet you down there."

Peter hadn't been sure what to expect as he headed for the I.C.U. The doctor's words haunted him as he walked down the long, silent corridors. Now, as he stood in the doorway of Neal's room, he felt all his strength leave him at the sight of his partner, his friend. His hands were shaking again, and he shoved them in his pockets. A short, blonde nurse startled him as she came and stood in the doorway as well.

"You should go talk to him."

"What?" Peter turned his head so that he could see her.

"You should go talk to him. A lot of people believe that the coma patients can hear you, you know." She patted him gently on the arm, before quietly walking away.

Neal's head was bandaged with gauze, with another smaller bandage just under his right eye. The entire right side of his face had darkened into a deep purple-black bruise, and his right eye was swollen shut. A red nasal-gastric tube was taped into his nose. A bright blue plate sat over his mouth holding the ventilator tubing in position. Peter watched as his chest gently rose and fell in perfect rhythm with the sound of the pump that was breathing for him. A heart monitor gently beeped along in quite harmony. There were two IV bags hanging along with the bright red bag holding the plasma, and two tubes snaked their way down and into his right arm.

"He looks peaceful." Elizabeth saw her husband jump as she said it.

"I'm not sure I'd say peaceful…" Peter's voice trailed off as he forced himself to cross the room to Neal's bedside. He reached out and laid a hand on Neal's arm. "He's so cold."

"The doctor said it may be a few more hours before his body temperature gets back to normal." Elizabeth crossed the room to join her husband, setting the coffees down on the bedside table. "Peter, why don't you get some sleep, I'll sit with him for a little while."

"Thanks, Elle." Peter folded himself onto the sofa across from Neal's bed, and fell asleep listening to the beep of the heart monitor.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own White Collar, or any of the characters. I'm just having a little fun with them until January!

Chapter Four

The room was almost dark when Peter woke. He rubbed his blurry eyes and checked his watch. 8:15 pm. There was a note beside him on the arm of the sofa, from Elizabeth, letting him know she had gone home to check on the dog. He rubbed his tired eyes again. The only light on in the room was a small bedside lamp that shone ever so dimly. Peter looked over to check on Neal, and noticed that the red tube, and the ventilator had been removed, replaced only by a slim oxygen tube in his nose. Peter felt relief rush over him, as he crossed to sit in the chair Elizabeth had pulled next to the bed. When he reached for Neal's arm, this time it was warm to the touch. For the first time in two days, Peter's hands didn't shake.

"Neal, I don't know if you can hear me or not. But they say you can, so I want you to listen." Peter paused, and drew in a long breath. "I want you to know that I'm sorry. I know I should have protected you, and I hope someday you'll be able to forgive me. But right now, all that matters is that you get better. Elle's got big plans for Christmas this year, and she expects you there. I expect you there. And when you're ready you'll come back to work, to the team, because…we need you Neal…"

"P…tr… …P…tr…" It came out so quite that Peter wasn't sure he'd actually heard it, until he heard it again. "P…tr… f…nd…me…P…tr…"

"Neal? It's Peter. I'm right here buddy. You're safe." Peter rubbed his hand across the back of Neal's, but got no reaction. Had he dreamed it? He reassured himself that Neal was still breathing softly, and laid his head down on the edge of the bed, letting himself drift back to sleep.

In his sleep he felt a hand softly land on his arm, and someone was softly saying his name. He opened his bleary eyes and looked around. The room was still only lit by the single bedside lamp. Elizabeth was asleep on the couch behind him. He started to lift his hand to rub the knot in his neck, when he noticed Neal's hand on his arm. Peter felt something in his stomach jump, and his breath hitch. Had Neal put it there? He thought he had been dreaming. He turned his head to look at Elizabeth again, she was still sound asleep. He checked his watch; it was 3:26 am.

"Neal…" Peter whispered, not allowing himself the hope that his friend was awake.

"P…tr…" Neal mumbled it under his breath, without opening his eyes. Peter wasn't sure if he was conscious or not.

"Neal. I'm here, open your eyes if you can hear me." Peter knew it was too much to hope for. But after a long minute, Neal's eyelids twitched, and then very slowly started to open.

Peter saw a quick shot of panic cross the younger man's face, and it was quickly joined by confusion. Neal jerked his hand off of Peter's arm, and recoiled into the pillows.

"W…ho…who…?" His voice was coarse.

"Neal…It's Peter…" Peter felt his breath hitch again, but this time it was concern. Brain damage. He could hear the doctor's voice echoing in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes tightly for a brief second, and drew in a long breath of air.

"P…tr…" The young man rolled the name around in his mind. It sounded so familiar. He had heard that name in the darkness. "W…ho…who…are…?"

"It's alright Neal. You just lay there. I'll be right back."

Neal watched him stand and walk to the door of the room. He couldn't remember who the man was, but somewhere down inside, he didn't want him to go.

Peter was relieved to see Dr. Matthews standing at the nurse's station, and he gently let the door close behind him.

"Ah, Peter. How's our boy doing? I was just coming to check on him."

"He's awake…but…something's wrong."

He waited as Dr. Matthews walked over to join him. The young surgeon was no longer dressed in scrubs, although his dark navy slacks, and lab coat still didn't make him look any older. There was a dullness in his eyes, which told Peter that he hadn't been home to sleep. Peter waited until the man was standing next to him before speaking quietly.

"He doesn't know who I am. He's been mumbling my name all night, and now that he's awake, he doesn't know who I am." Peter could hear the disappointment and frustration in his own voice, and noticed that his hands were starting to shake again.

Dr. Matthews nodded, and stayed quiet for a moment.

"Post-traumatic retro-grade amnesia, it's common with patients with his extent of injuries."

"In English?"

"It means that he can't consciously recall past memories. They are still there; he just has no control over accessing them." The doctor watched as a mix of feelings flashed over Peter's face.

"How much has he lost?"

"Don't know. Most of the time, it correlates with the traumatic injury itself. But, occasionally when there are other stressful events in the past, a person's mild will sort of…default, if you will…to a time prior to the onset of the stress. When that happens, all you can do is line up people or events to tell you how far back he has gone."

"How long is he going to be like this?" Peter's stuffed his hands in his pockets before the doctor could notice they were trembling. Peter could feel anger taking control over him again.

"Hard to say. It's different with every patient, could be weeks, months, sometimes even years. The best thing for him right now is to be surrounded by people that love and care about him. He needs to feel supported, and you can't get angry at him. We need to try not to upset him while his memories are coming back. If he feels pressured, it will just make it worse."

Peter saw the concerned look the doctor was giving him.

"I'm not angry with him. I'm angry with whoever did this to him." Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. "Even after all he's done in his life, he doesn't deserve this."

Peter felt the doctor put a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is difficult, but you can't let Neal see this side of you right now. He won't be able to differentiate, and will think you are angry with him."

Peter opened his eyes and looked at the doctor again. All he could do was nod. Neal had done some dumb things in his life for Peter to be angry about, but this was not one of them.

"Let's go see how our boy is doing." The doctor reached out and opened the door to Neal's room, motioning for Peter to follow him.

Neal was sitting upright in bed watching the two men carefully as they entered the room. Peter noticed he still looked panicked and disoriented. He had pulled the oxygen tube from his nose, and was picking at the tape holding the IV catheter in his arm. Dr. Matthews carefully approached the bed.

"Neal…you need to leave that alone."

"Who are you?" His voice cracked as it came out. It was a strain to breath out all three words together.

"Neal…I'm Dr. Matthews. I need you to lay back, and put your oxygen back on." He gently picked up the small tube and guided it towards Neal's face.

"I don't know you." Neal stopped fidgeting with the IV to reach up and push the doctor's hand away.

"Neal…" Peter approached the bed. "We're trying to help. You've been through a lot."

Neal laid back slowly as Peter took the oxygen from the doctor and carefully slid it into place. Carefully, he studied the older man's face. There was a familiarity to it, but he could not place it. He wanted to trust this man, something inside him was telling him he could.

"Neal…I need you to listen to me." Peter sat down on the bed slowly, watching as Dr. Matthews carefully checked the readouts on all the monitors. "You're in a hospital. You're alright, but you've been injured."


	5. Chapter 5

Don't own White Collar, or the characters. Just having some fun until January!

Chapter Five

They had tried for nearly an hour to explain to Neal who everyone in the room was, and what had happened to him. The frustration of not understanding the events of the last two days, and not being able to remember the last few years, was only making Neal more and more agitated. Dr. Matthews was concerned about his stress level getting too high, and administered a sedative to knock him out for a little while. Peter and Elizabeth were given strict orders not to divulge too much of Neal's past to him, the doctor was concerned that the truth would be more than he could handle all at once. Elizabeth had taken the opportunity to head home. With Christmas right around the corner, her catering business was booked solid, and she couldn't afford any angry clients.

Peter sat in the dim light of the room, alone. He knew he should try to sleep again, but a new found worry for Neal was keeping him awake. It was almost daylight, and his boss was going to expect an update. What was he going to tell Hughes? Even though Peter was directly responsible for Neal, the FBI really had control over him. And he was on work release. What would happen if he couldn't work? Would they go around Peter and throw Neal back in Prison? Peter couldn't bear the thought. Neal was part of the team. No, he was family. Peter clenched his hands. He would do whatever he could to keep Neal out of prison, and here, with them, where he belonged.

The sound of Neal's voice disrupted his thoughts. He was mumbling again. Peter crossed the room to sit in the chair next to the bed.

"K…t…" Neal's body jerked, and he slowly opened his eyes. The confusion was still present when he looked to Peter. "Where's Kate?"

"Kate's not here Neal." Peter had hoped this one part of his memory could have been lost forever.

"Where is she?" His voice was adamant and demanding.

"Kate's dead Neal. Remember? We talked about this." He watched as pain flashed across Neal's face. He had hoped they wouldn't have to go through this again.

Peter was about to page Dr. Matthews, when he saw Neal nod. A tear slowly started to creep down his face.

"I loved her. How can she be dead?" His voice softened to a whisper, and a few more tears welled up in his eyes. Neal turned his head away from Peter, and they sat in silence for a few long minutes.

There was a knock on the door, and Peter was glad for the distraction. He was even happier when he realized it was Elizabeth.

"Hey Neal. How you feeling?" Her voice was bright and cheerful, as she crossed the room. Peter noticed she carried a large paper bag, and a tray of coffee. She carefully leaned over and gave Peter a kiss on the forehead.

"It's Elizabeth, Neal. My wife." Peter clarified when he noticed the confused look sweep across Neal's face again.

"It's OK, Neal honey. I'm just so glad you're feeling better. I had a little while before I had to be at my first appointment so I stopped by June's and grabbed a few things for you. I thought it would cheer you up."

"Thanks Elle." Peter looked up at his wife. He loved that woman. He stood and took the coffee out of her hands.

"Now, that's Neal's Italian roast…" Elizabeth quickly grabbed the cup Peter was eyeing. "The doctor said it was fine." She added before Peter could say anything, and handed the cup to Neal.

The aroma of the coffee made a slight smile spread across Neal's face. "Smells good."

"Better than the smell of the hospital." She winked at Neal. "Now, I also brought your robe, and your slippers."

Peter couldn't keep himself from tensing. "Elle…you weren't supposed to be in that apartment."

"I wasn't…Jones got them out for me. He said he and Diana would stop by later." She gave Peter another peck on the cheek, and patted Neal's arm. "I've gotta run. I'll see you two later."

Neal cautiously eyed Peter as Elizabeth left the room. "Is she in trouble?"

"No…Neal. She's not in trouble." Peter couldn't help but smile as he realized both cups were filled with Italian roast.

They sat and drank their coffee in silence. Peter watching over Neal like an anxious father, he noticed Neal eyeing the robe and slippers Elizabeth had brought suspiciously. He was keeping his right eye partially closed, causing him to have to tilt his head. There was child like apprehension on Neal's face, definitely not the usual overly-confident swagger that was normally present. Neal cautiously reached out and rubbed part of the silk robe between his fingers.

"Are you sure this is mine?" Neal didn't sift his gaze.

"I'm sure. I've seen you wear it."

Suddenly Neal turned to face Peter, and his face was very serious.

"Peter…I just want you to know…" he paused while he collected his thoughts as best he could. "When I was out there…even though I didn't know who you were…I knew you would find me…I knew you would find me and I would be OK."

Peter stared at the younger man for a moment, not sure what to say.

"I always find you Neal."

Peter hadn't wanted to leave Neal alone at the hospital. Of course, he wasn't really alone; he just didn't have any familiar faces to keep him company. Now that he was back at the office, he was regretting it even more. He sat in the conference room listening to the Marshall's whine about how it wasn't their fault that the tracker on Caffrey had been cut, so the fact that it took so long to report didn't matter any way. It was giving him a headache. Did it really matter whose fault it was that the tracker had been cut? Peter was beyond caring what the Marshall's office had to say. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, hoping to relieve the pressure behind his eyes. The room went quiet, and he just sat there for a moment, relieved.

"How is Caffrey?" Hughes settled himself on the edge of the conference table just in front of Peter.

"Post…Traumatic…Retro…" He took his hand down and shook his head. "He can't remember anything from the past 6 or so years as best we can tell. He keeps thinking that Kate is still alive."

"That must be hard."

"Yeah." Peter let out a long sigh and nodded in agreement. "Doctor said it just takes time for the memories to come back. He said the best thing for him is to be in familiar surroundings." Peter added the last sentence hoping that Hughes wouldn't feel differently. He relaxed just a little when he saw his boss nod his head in agreement.

"When do they think they will release him?"

"I haven't heard for sure…possibly tonight or in the morning. Elizabeth and I are planning on taking him to our house, since his apartment is still a crime scene."

"That's fine. But Peter…" There was an uneasy tension in Hughes's voice. "The tracker still needs to be on. The Marshall's brought over a new one."

Peter's gaze fell on the small black tracking anklet sitting in the middle of the desk. "Not 'till he gets out of the hospital."

"That's fine. Just make sure it goes back on."

Hughes was silent as he stood up. He laid a hand on Peter's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, before walking out of the conference room.

It was later than Peter had wanted when he finally arrived back at the hospital. The shower and change of clothes had made him feel a little better, but after sitting and listening to the Marshall's and typing his report, he just felt drained again. After spending at least ten minutes trying to find a parking spot, he was finally on his way up to Neal's room. The hospital seemed livelier today; lots of people were bustling about, going here or there. Elizabeth had called and told him that Neal had been moved to a private room on the third floor. As he stepped off the elevator, and approached Neal's room, fear and frustration gripped him. The guards he had requested were nowhere to be seen. He relaxed as he reached for the door and heard Diana and Jones's voices inside.

"Where are the guards?" He pointed behind him as he entered the room.

Jones looked up at his boss, and saw the concern on his face. "We let them take a dinner break while we were here. They should be back any minute now."

Peter just nodded and slowly took his overcoat off, keeping his eyes on Neal.

"Hey Peter." There was a child-like excitement in his voice as he looked over and saw the older man. "El, was here…she left your dinner over there. Said she would be back in a little while."

"Well…It seems like you're doing pretty well for yourself." Peter smiled back at Neal. He noticed both eyes were completely open tonight.

"Yup…we're doing good. Did you get all your stuff done?"

"Yeah I did." Peter turned to Jones and Diana. "Thanks for sitting with him".

"Sure thing boss. I think I just heard your guards come back, so we're going to head out." Diana stood and gave Peter's arm a squeeze.

"Thanks guys. I'll see you later."

"Sure thing, boss." Peter watched as his two junior agents left the room.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Neal was watching Peter like a hawk.

"Mmm…not right now. Did you eat?"

"Yup…You know…El's food is much better than hospital food."

"I'm sure. You seen your doctor tonight?" Peter sat down in the chair closest to Neal. He was glad to see his friend in such good spirits.

"Mmm…Hmm…said I can leave in the morning. Are you going to stay again tonight Peter?"

"Do you want me to?" Peter watched the question bounce around in Neal's mind. His bright blue eyes softened for a moment.

"Feel better if you did."

The new openness of his friend was foreign to him, but he sort of liked it. He knew it wouldn't last, but he would enjoy it while it was there. Don't take advantage of it, El had warned him. Peter knew there were things in Neal's past that needed to be left there.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own White Collar, or any of the characters. I'm just having fun with them until Jan.!

Chapter Six

Neal had slept mostly through the night, and Peter woke up feeling rested for the first time in days. The morning sun was coming through the windows, and he could see that it was snowing again. He smiled to himself, grateful knowing that Neal was inside this time, safe and warm. The doctor's were sending him home on strict orders to take it easy. June had packed Neal a duffle bag with clothes, and brought it by, knowing that he couldn't go back to the apartment until everything was fixed. Now, Peter watched as Neal stood in front of the mirror, unconsciously going through the motions of primping and smoothing his slacks, shirt and tie, making sure everything was just right, as only Neal could.

"Mozzie said he would come by the house this afternoon to see you."

Neal nodded. "He doesn't like hospitals."

Interesting, Peter thought to himself, he still knew who Mozzie was. When Neal turned from the mirror to face him, Peter noticed a change in his expression. The uncertain look was gone from his eyes. Was it something to do with Mozzie? Or the clothes? What was he starting to remember? Peter desperately wanted to know, but recalling the doctor's words, decided not to push. Neal walked over towards the bed Peter was sitting on. A quizzical look came over Neal's face.

"What?"

"I'm missing something."

Peter held the dark grey Fedora up, and twirled it around his finger. Neal smirked, his blue eyes regaining their twinkle.

"Ah, yes…my hat…"

The car was silent on the drive from the hospital to Peter's house. Peter wasn't sure how to approach the subject of the tracking anklet. He wasn't even sure how much memory Neal had regained. He had certainly seen a change come over him at the mention of Mozzie's name. It was Neal, the master of concealment, for all Peter knew his memories had come rushing back, and he just hadn't said anything. And there it was, Peter thought to himself, that fine line of trust he and Neal were always balancing on. Peter parked the Taurus in front of the town house he and Elizabeth owned, and walked around to open Neal's door. It was painful to watch as Neal delicately lifted himself to his feet, using the car door as a crutch, resting for a minute to catch his breath. Mozzie came running out of the house to meet him, but Neal held up a hand to hold him off.

"Give me a minute Mozz."

Mozzie offered up a glared at Peter from over top of his glasses.

"I didn't do it." Peter held up both hands in his own defense.

"I'm fine Mozz. Really."

"Oh really? You don't look fine. You look anything but fine." He glared at Peter again.

"Cut it out Mozz."

Neal took a deep breath and started to step forward. Peter put a hand under his elbow, only to get brushed off. "I got this Peter."

He only made it a few shaky steps before the world started getting dim, and spun around him. He could feel himself headed for the ground. Darkness was coming again.

"P…tr…"

"Yeah, I got you bud." Neal felt strong arms catch him as he fell forward, and blacked out.

"What did you do to him?" Elizabeth scolded as she held an ice bag to Neal's head. "Between the two of you, he'll be back in the hospital by dinner time."

"We didn't do anything, El…" Peter defended. "He was being stubborn and wouldn't let us help him in the house."

"I take offense at the implication that I was involved in any of this." Mozzie held both hands up, palms out. "He leaves with the suit, and comes back three days later looking like this."

"I didn't do this Mozzie." There was hurt in Peter's voice.

"Tell him, I will check on him in the morning." Mozzie picked up his coat and left, without saying another word.

"What a strange little man…" Elizabeth looked at where Mozzie had been standing a moment before.

"I'll agree to that." Peter reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Neal's tracking anklet.

"Peter…"

"I have to El." There was a touch of regret in his voice. He gently reached down and securely fastened the device around Neal's left ankle.

"You could have at least waited until he was awake."

"I think its better this way."

"For you or for him?"

The clock softly chimed the seven o'clock hour, waking Neal from his dreams. He had dreamt of her, of Kate. He dreamt that they had flown away to Venice together, and had toured the city in a Gondola, stopping for dinner at a little restaurant on the water, taking in the food and the wine. Now that he was awake, he could hear Peter's voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that she was dead. He squeezed his eyes tighter, wanting to go back to the dream, back to where Kate was with him again. It was no use, the dream was gone.

He could hear voices, and he rolled his head sideways to find where they were coming from. The living room and dining room were dark, but there was light slipping out around the door to the kitchen. Peter and Elizabeth must be cooking dinner. He slowly sat up, putting his feet on the floor, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Very carefully he stood, using the furniture to support himself as he eased across the room toward the kitchen. As he leaned against the fireplace mantle, he felt something on his leg that hadn't been there before.

Peter was on his way to check on Neal, when he found him leaning up against the fireplace, staring down at his tracking anklet. His heart sank at the sight of the confusion that had returned to Neal's face, the confidence from the afternoon was gone. Peter felt a slight pang of guilt, watching as he swayed a little, holding tighter to the mantle, but not lifting his head.

"Neal?"

"Peter…my leg is blinking."

Peter almost couldn't suppress the laughter. Definitely not the time, he told himself. He reached over and switched on the lamp that was close by, before crossing the room to where Neal was standing. He gently guided Neal to the dining table, helping him sit down, before taking the chair across from him.

"What is that Peter?" His voice was laced with resentment now. "Is that a tracking device?"

"Neal…just hold on a minute." Peter felt blindsided. He could only imagine Neal felt the same way. He had been trying all evening to come up with an easy way to tell him, but there just wasn't one.

"It's a simple question, Peter." Neal's blue eyes narrowed as they looked across at Peter.

"It's not a simple answer, Neal." Peter took a long, deep breath before continuing. "Look, Neal…you've done some things in your life…things you went to prison for. The only reason you're not still in prison is that tracking anklet."

Neal didn't offer any reaction. He could remember doing things, what one might consider illegal things, but he didn't remember ever getting caught. It was probably better he just kept his mouth shut until more of his memory came back.

Peter studied Neal's face for a moment. He was only slightly surprised that Neal's mind had figured out what the anklet was. After all, Peter reminded himself, Neal was an art thief and a convicted felon. Of course he would know what electronic monitoring was. He was just glad it was on; at least there wouldn't be a struggle over the matter. If it made Neal weary of trusting him, it wouldn't be anything new. In fact, it would be closer to normal than these last few days had been.

Neal was watching Peter study him, when he felt the room start to spin. He hadn't been sitting up this long in days, the nagging pounding in his head was coming back, and he was suddenly finding it difficult to focus his eyes. He squeezed his eyes closed firmly in effort to make the spinning stop.

"Neal. Neal…NE..EE..AL!"

"What!" He refused to open his eyes. The pain and the spinning were making him nauseous again. Whatever the hospital had been giving him was wearing off. He crossed his arms on the table in front of himself, and carefully laid he head down on them. He was starting to regret getting off the sofa.

"Neal…You alright?"

"Mmmhmmm…I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm fine. Just make the room stop moving." Neal pulled his head up and looked at Peter. He had to squint for a minute to clear his eyes.

"Alright. That's it. You're going back to the couch until dinner is ready, and you're taking a pain pill."

"No. No pills. I'm fine. Just…need…to…lie down." He tried to lift himself to his feet, but only made it about halfway up before his knees buckled underneath him. He felt Peter grab from behind and hold him up.

"Yeah…you're fine alright."

Peter slowly led him back to the couch. Once Neal was lying down, Peter found the bottle of prescription pain relievers, and took two out.

"Peter…I said I didn't need those. I'm fine."

"You are most certainly not fine. Take the damn pills Neal." He stretched his hand out in offering.

Neal shook his head very slowly. "Uh...Uh…I might…"

"You might what?" Peter sat down on the edge of the coffee table next to him.

"I might…I might say something…" Neal cautiously looked at Peter for a moment.

"Something you'll regret?" Peter saw the answer on his face. "Jesus…Neal…Will you just trust me?"

"Hard to trust when I can't remember…" He really didn't want the pills, but even now that he was laying down, the room was still spinning. He held out his hand and took the pain killers. Maybe if he just slept through it, he wouldn't be able to say anything stupid. He would have to risk it; his head felt like it was going to explode.

The pain pills had knocked Neal out again. Peter and Elizabeth had eaten dinner in silence, not wanting to wake him. He had curled himself into a ball, and whimpered in his sleep. They had decided that it would be too much to try and get him up the stairs to the spare bed room, so Peter took up his watchful post in the recliner next to Neal. He finally fell asleep just after midnight, listening to the incoherent mumblings of his partner.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own White Collar, or the characters. Just entertaining myself until January!

Chapter Seven

_Neal walked briskly across the airport hangar. He could see the Lear jet waiting on the other side with the door open. It wouldn't be long now, he thought to himself. Four years of waiting, and finally just about a hundred yards away sat Kate. He had missed her. It had nearly torn him apart when she stopped visiting him in prison. It had hurt, he had been angry for a while. But ever since he had been out, he had been looking for her. He loved her, no matter what. It wouldn't be long now, and they would be off to somewhere they could start over. A new life. Together. _

_As he reached the edge of the hanger, he could see her in the doorway. An almost overwhelming sense of joy ran through him at the sight of her. He wouldn't have to go on without her anymore._

"_Neal!" It was Peter. He had hoped that Peter wouldn't have found them. He was the only one he hadn't been able to face saying goodbye to. He didn't want to admit it, but he had become very fond of Peter these last few months._

"_Weren't you going to say goodbye?"_

_Neal just stared at him. He couldn't, not to Peter. He reached down in his pocket and pulled out his FBI ID that Peter had given to him. _

"_Thank you Peter. For everything." He held the ID out to Peter. He wouldn't need it where he was going._

"_No you keep it. I hope it reminds you of all the good you've done here. You had a life here Neal, a good life."_

"_It's not the life I want." He turned to walk towards the plane, towards the life he did want. Almost there. He could see her smile now, she was waiving to him from the seat just inside the door. Only one hundred feet to go, and he'd be free. No more tracking anklet, no more FBI, just him and Kate. _

_He would miss Peter. Peter had been there for him, even during his trial, even while he was in prison, Peter had been there. There was a small bit of regret about having to leave Peter. But the life with Kate and the life with Peter would never mix. _

_He turned, regret showing on his face, and looked at Peter. He could see the hope in Peter's face that he would change his mind. _

"_Peter…"_

_It was like a wall of heat hit him from behind. His body was hurled at Peter with amazing force. As he turned he could see the plane burning. Was he screaming? There was no sound, everything was silent. He tried to go to her. He had to save her from that fiery inferno. But something was holding him back. It was Peter. He felt something hot against his face; he tried to pull free, but couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but watch. You couldn't see the plane any longer, just a red fire ball._

Peter wasn't sure what had jerked him awake. He could hear the sounds of a snow plow outside, and see the faint flash of light as it worked its way down the street. He reached up and scrubbed his face with both hands, pausing to glance at his watch as he brought his arms down. It was just after 5:30 in the morning, and it was still very dark outside. He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, and then focused on the younger man asleep across from him. Neal had rolled partially onto his chest, his right arm hanging limply off the couch, fingers almost gracing the floor. Peter was just about to settle back to sleep when Neal's body shuddered, and he stretched his arm out for a brief second before letting it fall back to the floor. Peter lifted himself out of his chair, quietly walking the few steps between him and his partner.

"No! Kate!" Neal's body jerked, and he rolled onto his back, small beads of sweat becoming evident on his forehead.

Peter gently reached out a hand to his shoulder, hoping to ease him from his nightmare. Neal's eyes flashed open the moment he felt the touch. Confusion in his eyes, he recoiled into the back sofa cushions, the sudden movement causing a pained expression to flash across his face. Peter pulled back, holding both hands up in front of him.

"It's just me…" Peter saw a flash of something in Neal's eyes he didn't quiet recognize, and then it was gone, quickly covered by a look of recognition.

"Peter?" The voice was barely a whisper.

"Yes." Peter put his hands down, slowly lowering himself so that he was sitting on the coffee table across from Neal. There was pain evident behind the blue eyes that stared back at him. Not just physical pain, Peter knew instantly what the nightmare had been.

"Neal…"

"No…Don't…" Neal held up a hand to keep Peter from saying anything more. He could feel his body trembling slightly. He carefully eased himself up into a sitting position, pulling his legs up and folding them against his chest. Wrapping his arms around his shins, he gently placed his forehead between his knees. He desperately needed to get control of himself.

Peter waited a moment, watching Neal, unsure of what to say. If only Elizabeth were awake, he shook his head, no, he could deal with this. They had dealt with this once before. He eased himself up, reaching out and turning on the lamp that sat on the end table. Neal raised his head and squinted at the light. His eyes lids were red and puffy.

"Neal…for once in your life…please…talk to me." Peter stumbled through it.

"I…" Neal stopped and drew in a deep breath to calm himself, but flinched as pain shot threw his body, choking the breath right back out of him. He clenched his jaw and dropped his head. "Pills…P…ter…"

"Ok...but then we're talking about this, you're not going to just curl up and sleep this time." Peter waited for an acknowledging head nod before handing his partner two more of the red pills, and a bottle of water. He watched quietly as Neal popped the two capsules into his mouth chasing them with the water.

"Could use something stronger." Neal held up the empty bottle, shaking it a little before handing it back to Peter.

"Oh no…nope…." Peter chuckled as he sat back down on the table, placing the bottle next to him. "That's all you're getting…start talking buddy boy."

"It was that day in the hanger…" The glimmer in his eyes was gone, replaced with a darkness Peter had only seen once before.

"The day Kate died." Peter finished his sentence for him.

Blue eyes just stared back at him, hurt and confused. "Why Peter?"

"I don't know…We will find out. I promise." He waited a moment until he was sure Neal had processed what he had said. "What else do you remember?"

"That's it…just that…that day…" He pressed his hands to his eyes, not wanting Peter to see the tears he could feel trying to form. "It's all like a bad dream…I just can't make all the pieces fit together…it feels so _UNREAL_…"

"It will come…stop trying to force it, and it will come." Peter stood, "How about some coffee?"

Neal removed his hands from his face. "Sounds good." He watched Peter turn and walk to the kitchen, thankful for the reprieve. He closed his eyes, and leaned back against the couch. He took a deep breath, this time without the searing pain, and tried to steady himself. How many other events in his life was he yet to recall? He found it unsettling that he was unsure what Peter knew or didn't know.

The soft padding of feet off to his left caught his attention. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Elizabeth staring at him from halfway down the stairs. She was already dressed for the day he noted.

"Neal!" Her voice was a mix of excitement, concern, and relief.

She trotted down the last few stairs and came to stand in front of him, arms outstretched. Neal hesitated a moment before reaching up for the embrace that was being offered. She wrapped her arms around him very carefully, sitting down on the cushion next to him.

"How are you feeling? You look better." She ran a hand up and down his arm once, as she let go of him.

"I'm feeling more myself…I still can't remember much." He carefully considered her face, still unsure of how much to say.

"That's alright sweetie. You will, and we'll be here when you do." She smiled at him. It was motherly and reassuring, and it made him relax just a little. "I hung your good shirt and tie up in the closet of the spare bedroom for you. I didn't want them to get all wrinkled. Besides...I figured you might sleep better without them."

"Thank you…" He did vaguely remember wearing a tie home from the hospital, it hadn't occurred to him until she said something that he was down to his slacks and undershirt.

"I smell coffee…" She stood and held out a hand for Neal. "Think you can make it?"

He looked up at her and nodded, his blue eyes sparkling just a little. He took her hand, slowly raising himself to his feet. With her arm around him for support, they carefully made their way to the dining room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews. I'm glad y'all are enjoying the story!**

I don't own White Collar or the characters...just having some fun until January!

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth had helped Neal into one of the dining chairs, before joining her husband in the kitchen, leaving Neal alone with his thoughts. He put his elbows on the table, linking his hands together and leaning his chin gingerly down on them. He shut his eyes, contemplating the events of the last few days. The memory loss was confusing, but what he was getting back was just as perplexing. He was used to being in control of his thoughts, and it was his very thoughts seemed to betray him now. He heard Elizabeth's soft footsteps as she approached, and set a mug of coffee down in front of him. He drew in a breath, and let the familiar aroma fill his mind and body. A picture of a girl flashed across his mind's eye.

_She was tall and slender, her chocolate brown hair playfully dancing around her shoulders. She was sitting on a chaise lounge, her soft skin glowing in the early morning sun. She had her white silk robe carefully pulled across her purple night gown, and the scarf around her neck gently played in the breeze. She looked up from the morning paper as she felt his presence. _

"_Morning, Neal. Did you sleep well?"_

"_Good Morning, Cindy. Yes I did, thank you." He flashed a wide smile._

His eye's shot open widely as he gasped for air.

"Neal? Neal? Sweetie...are you OK?" Elizabeth reached out and put a hand softly on his shoulder. She could feel him trembling. He didn't look at her, just kept staring at his hands in front of him.

Peter came rushing through the kitchen door at the sound of his wife's calls. His eyes landing on Neal's pale face. Neal visibly took a few long deep breaths before letting his gaze settle on Peter.

"Who's Cindy?" The color was returning to his face, but there was a look of confusion in his eyes.

Peter looked at Elizabeth who merely shrugged. Where had this come from? He pulled the chair out across from Neal and sat down. It took him a minute to recall the name. He picked up the coffee his wife had put down for him, and took a slow sip before answering Neal. June's coffee. He had forgotten Elizabeth had brought some home special for Neal.

"Cindy is June's granddaughter. She was living with June for a few weeks when you first moved in."

"An art student?" Neal looked to Peter for confirmation.

"Yes. You remember her?" Peter was trying not to be overly eager, reminding himself that this was a slow process.

Neal only nodded. Remember her; the statement was a little broad. He remembered that morning. What was so significant about that morning? Why had his mind picked that memory? It didn't seem to connect with anything. He reached both hands up and ran them through his hair, resting his head on the palms of his hands for a moment. He reached down and picked up the mug of steaming coffee, taking a slow steady sip, savoring the flavor. He looked to Elizabeth.

"You brought me this in the hospital."

Elizabeth walked around behind Neal, and sat in the chair next to him, angling it so she could see his face. "Yes…it's…"

"June's coffee." Neal finished the sentence, glancing from Elizabeth to Peter and then back.

"Leave it to you. You can't remember anyone's face, but you can remember coffee." Peter gave a little smirk. "Maybe tonight I'll have Mozzie bring over some of your wine and see what else we can unlock." He teased, watching a glint of humor fill Neal's eyes.

"Sounds good. But I hope you guys plan on feeding me before then?" The twinkle in his eyes made Peter breath a little easier.

"Oh now you're just getting pushy." Peter laughed as he stood and headed back to the kitchen to finish cooking.

With Peter gone, Neal let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, forgetting that Elizabeth was still sitting next to him. She just reached out and softly patted him on the arm, a look of understanding on her face. He was glad she when didn't say anything. He sipped his coffee, turning the memory over in his mind. There was more to that morning, he could feel it, and he desperately wanted to remember it. He closed his eyes, letting the smell of the Italian roast pull him back to that day.

_Peter walked through the terrace doors. The look on his face could only be described as bewilderment. His hands were shoved down in the pockets of his khaki colored overcoat, as he crossed the terrace to where Neal was sitting at the table. Mimosas in champagne flutes adorned the table along with fresh fruit, biscotti, and coffee in finely hand painted china. Neal folded the newspaper he had been reading, placing it on the table, picking up his steaming cup of coffee. _

"_Neal…" Peter looked dumbfounded._

"_Morning Peter." Neal flashed a smile, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're early."_

"_We've got a lead. Got to get to the Airport." He paused, trying to take in the scene in front of him. "What is all this?"_

"_You said if I found something better…I should take it. So here I am."_

"_So I did…and so you are… You got all this for $700 a month?"_

"_I help out…wash the Jag…watch her granddaughter…" Neal watched as Cindy came and took her seat in the lounge chair behind him._

"_Unbelievable…Go…Get dressed…"_

_The memory faded and he saw himself coming down the grand staircase. The golden mahogany colored wood glowing from the morning sun pouring in the windows. Peter was standing just past the landing._

"_You look like a cartoon."_

"_This is a Devore." Peter frowned. "You're mad… You tell me what rule I broke, and I'll thumb back to prison myself…"_

"Neal…Neeeaaal…" Peter was shaking his arm. "Come on buddy…come back to us…"

"I'm fine…" Neal shook his head to clear his mind. "I'm fine."

"Have another flashback?" There was a hint of concern in Peter's voice.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah…right…you're fine. I heard you the first two times. You gonna eat?" Peter put the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon he had been holding down on the table, taking his seat across from Neal and Elizabeth.

Neal nodded, serving himself, letting the memory of that morning settling into his mind. He rolled it around, while he ate silently. That was the first morning he was at June's. Wasn't it? That would have been his first case with Peter after getting out of prison. Prison…right…and Peter had put him in there, and then got him out…after he escaped...for Kate. The memories came flooding back to him. He could feel his head start to spin again. He dropped his fork, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands to steady himself. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to force himself to breath.

Peter watched Neal tentatively. The color was starting to drain from his face again. His knuckles were white as he gripped the table. He slowly let his head roll back until it was sitting on the back of the chair, his breaths coming slow and ragged.

"Neal…stay with me…" Peter shot Elizabeth a worried look.

"Panic attack?" Elizabeth shrugged, placing a hand on Neal's arming, rubbing up and down slowly. "It's OK Neal."

"NEAL!" His eyes shot open at the sound of Peter's elevated voice. Slowly bringing his head back down to look across the table at Peter. His blue eyes slightly glazed over.

"I'm alright." He caught Peter's questionable look. "Really, Peter. I'm alright."

"It's coming back, isn't it?" Peter's tone was soft.

"Yeah…most of it." Neal let out a big sigh, releasing some of the tension.

"The other night?"

"No…Not yet…Sorry Peter."

"No, Neal. Don't apologize."


	9. Chapter 9

I don't own White Collar or any of the Characters...just having some fun until January.

Chapter Nine

As far as Neal was concerned, the rest of the day had been trivial. Mozzie had come by shortly after breakfast, managing to talk a whole lot about nothing for a few hours. After lunch he had taken a couple more of his pain killers, borrowed a pair of Peter's sweat pants, and crashed on the couch again, sleeping through the better part of the afternoon. At some point Peter had gone into the office to do paperwork, stopping by the apartment on the way back to grab a couple of bags worth of Neal's clothes. They had finally cleared the crime scene, but it would be at least a week before all the repairs were finished. Peter had felt it was a good idea for Neal not to be in the apartment until things were back to normal. Elizabeth had stayed home while Peter was out, taking the chance to make up the bed in the guest room. Neal knew they didn't want to leave him alone, not that he really felt like he was capable of going anywhere, anyway. Dinner had been uneventful and quiet. The nausea that had been lingering under the surface of the fatigue and the pain pills, kept him from eating much. He was grateful when Peter didn't talk about anything more than the weather, and how bad the traffic had been.

Now, as he lay atop the guest bed, in his own silk pajama pants and comfortable cotton shirt, he was finally getting to read the copy of _Divine Comedy_ Mozzie had brought him this morning. Mozzie had been raving about this new translation for weeks. It was the most he had felt like himself since this whole thing had started. How long had that been? A week? He shook his head, and sighed. It all still seemed so strange. The rest of the house was quiet, Peter and Elizabeth having finally gone to bed two hours before. He was starting to regret sleeping all day. He gently closed the book, laying it on his chest, and glanced over to the clock on the bed side table, it read just after midnight.

A soft bang from downstairs made him jump slightly. He shook his head and took a deep breath to steady himself. It was nothing he told himself. There was a second bang, and this time he could hear the dog growling. Neal reached over and shut the light off, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the house. He could hear whispers from Peter's bedroom, just down the hall, and the sound of a drawer being slipped open, and then closed again. He eased himself from the bed, leaning on the door jamb, back against the wall, trying to listen. He heard the slid of a gun being pulled, Peter had chambered a round.

"Peter?" He whispered as quietly as he could. He thought he could make out a figure moving towards the staircase.

"Neal?" He heard Elizabeth call quietly too him, a few seconds before he saw her slowly moving down the hallway towards him, Satchamo close behind.

"What's going on?" He whispered as she entered the room.

"Don't know. Peter thinks somebody's downstairs." He grabbed her gently by the arm, pulling her out of the doorway.

"Elizabeth…is that a gun in your hand?" She just nodded.

"It's Peter's backup." She was trembling slightly.

Neal reached down and gently took the gun from her hand. After checking the clip, and chambering a round himself, he moved carefully back towards the doorway. The cool polymer of the Glock, made it lightweight in his hand, as he kept in down at his side.

"I _can_ shoot…" she hissed at him.

"At a range maybe…you're shaking." She just nodded again, reaching a hand down to nervously pet the dog, keeping her eyes on Neal.

The downstairs was quiet. Just as he was about to call out to Peter, he heard the sound of a gunshot. He flashed a look at Elizabeth, telling her in that one second to stay where she was. He brought the gun up in front of him in his right hand, keeping his left underneath for support. Slowly he crept down the hallway, feeling his way with his back against the wall. He hadn't made it more than a couple feet when three more gun shots rang out. He moved to the top of the staircase as fast as his aching body would let him, peering down, trying to see anything in the darkness. He looked back towards Elizabeth, her eyes were panicked. He held up a hand to ask her not to follow, as he started down the stairs. Half way down he crouched, letting his eyes re-adjust to the moonlight that was coming in the front windows.

His head started to swim again from all the commotion. His side was starting to ache from the strain of holding his arm up. There was a sticky warmth where the bandage under his shirt was, he had pulled the stitches, and they were starting to bleed again. Breath, he told himself, and swallowed hard, trying to collect himself. He wouldn't be any help to Peter if he couldn't hold it together. And here he was, holding a gun. He hated guns. But this was for Peter and Elizabeth, he reminded himself, and he couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to either of them.

The living room directly in front of him was clear. As he crept down the remaining stairs, he swept the gun and his eyes to the left. On the floor, leaning up against one of the dining chairs was a figure, gun still in his hand as it lay on the floor.

"Peter…" He called as loudly as he dared a feeling of unease falling over him.

"I'm OK." The figure in front of him called back, without turning to look.

Neal quickly and quietly crossed to the dining room, keeping his weapon at the ready.

"It's alright, Neal. They're down." His breath hissed out as he spoke.

"Peter…" Neal gasped as he finally turned to look the older man. "You've been hit."

"I'm fine… …It just nicked me." Peter carefully started to pick himself up, using the chair for balance. Neal reached out his free hand to help, a wince of pain shooting through his body when Peter's weight came up against him.

"Neal… you're bleeding…"

"It's just the stitches… I'm fine." He gave a weak smile, hoping to hide how bad he felt.

Peter gingerly walked over and turned the lights on. Turning, he made his way to the base of the stairs, and called up to where his wife was hiding.

"It's alright El… we're alright…"

Neal poked his head into the kitchen. Two men were lying on the floor. The shorter man lay closest to the door, he was face down, a red puddle of blood was starting to form underneath him. Behind him, was the larger of the two men, who had taken two in the chest. His grey shirt was now stained a deep burgundy from blood. Neal wrapped his free hand around his ribs to ease the pain as he crept a little closer. Two sinister green eyes stared up at him.

"You recognize him?" Neal hadn't heard Peter come up behind him. He shook his head. He had a feeling he had seen the man with the green eyes before, he just couldn't figure out where. It made a chill run down his spine.

"I can't remember… I feel like I should…"

"That little guy, I'm not sure who he is. The big guy there..." Peter pointed at the man with his gun. "That's Ricky Gallo."


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own White Collar or the characters...Just having some fun until January.

Chapter Ten

Elizabeth slowly descended the staircase, not knowing what to expect to find. She knew that a career in the FBI would be dangerous for her husband, but with him currently working in the White Collar unit, she had felt a false sense of security. Now, not only was that illusion getting burst, but the threat had been right here, in their home. Years ago, when Peter had taken her to the shooting range to make sure she could use a gun, she had laughed at him. She was secretly grateful that Neal had had the fortitude to go down those stairs instead of her. Even now, knowing that both men were alright, desperately wanting to wrap her arms around Peter, she wasn't sure she wanted to see the scene downstairs.

As she reached the main floor, there was a knock on the front door, making her heart race for an instant. She looked through the peep hole to find Agent Jones standing on her doorstep. She felt relieved to see him there, knowing that Peter must have called him when this had started, knowing that they could always rely on him to be there for Peter. She always felt he was safe, as long as he was with his team. She had never dreamed of him not being safe here at home with her.

"Jones." She couldn't keep her voice from trembling as she opened the door for him.

"Evening, Elizabeth…You alright?" He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he came into the house.

"I'm fine. I think Peter and Neal are in the dining room." She really wasn't sure what to say. I think somebody's been shot? She still didn't even know.

"Alright."

She shut the door, and without turning, took a minute to steady herself. She had wanted to make the men coffee, but something told her their kitchen had just become a crime scene. The thought made her breath hitch, and her stomach turn. She was starting to be able to hear sirens in the distance; it wouldn't be long before the house was crawling with police and federal agents. When she finally turned towards the dining room, she couldn't see anyone, but could hear their voices coming from the kitchen. As she slowly made her way closer, she could see a small circle of blood staining the area rug under the dining table. She had to close her eyes for a minute and remind herself that she had, in fact, heard Peter's voice telling her they were OK.

"Peter… …Elizabeth." She heard Neal address Peter.

"El… …don't come in here." Peter called to her, making her stop where she was.

Peter came out of the kitchen, and started walking towards her. There was blood soaking through the shoulder of his white cotton shirt. It didn't take her long to notice that he was holding his left arm stiffly across his stomach, his face tight and a little pale.

"Pe…ter…" Her voice was shaky now. She felt like all the air had been knocked out of her. "You…you said…"

"I'm fine." He crossed the few steps between them, wrapping his good arm around her, pulling her close.

Peter buried his face in her long brown hair, breathing in the smell of her. She wrapped her arms around him, her head against his good shoulder. He could feel her body shuddering as she clung to him. He had been terrified earlier when he had heard that shot go off, not for himself, but for her. She was his world, and he would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to her. If he hadn't been able to…no he wasn't going to think about it. He heard her start to cry, the tears warm as they wet his shirt. It pulled at his heart. He had tried so hard his whole career to keep her away from this. He held her as tight as he could, kissing the top of her head, waiting for the sobs to die down.

"El…look…" He pushed her head up so he could look at her. "Why don't you go upstairs, and take a shower. You'll feel better." He wanted to get her away from all of this.

"Alright." She sniffed. "Neal's OK?"

"Yeah, Neal's fine." She nodded, and he watched as she slowly made her way out of the dining room, before turning back to the kitchen.

Diana arrived a few minutes later, alongside the ambulance, and the rest of the emergency response team, taking the liberty of letting them all into the house. Peter, Neal, and Jones were all sitting at the dining table. Peter's firearm was sitting as the center piece, along with an evidence bag containing two more guns. Jones had been brief on the phone, telling her there had been shots fired at Peter's house, but she knew instantly, looking at the three of them, this was more than that. As she walked closer, she notice Peter was holding a towel up to his own shoulder, his head shot up when he heard her walk close, the EMTs not far behind her.

"Diana…glad you're here."

"Boss… you hit?" There was concern in her voice. She pointed the EMTs in his direction.

"I'm fine really." He was starting to not feel fine.

"Hughes is on his way. He called me just before I pulled up." Peter just closed his eyes and sighed.

"Give Neal the Gallo file, and then you and Jones finish processing the scene in there." He nodded to the kitchen.

He waited until Jones and Diana had moved into the kitchen, and Neal was occupied reading the file on Ricky Gallo, before turning his attention to the paramedic. The kid was young, he couldn't have been older than 20, Peter thought. His blonde hair was still perfectly styled, and his uniform still had the creases in it. They must have just come on shift. He closed his eyes and turned his head away as the paramedic pulled out a pair of scissors and started cutting his shirt off. He was pretty sure the bullet had just nicked him, but he hadn't wanted to find out. He winced as he felt the kid inspecting his arm.

"Well… it's a definitely a graze. Runs across the back of your arm, and a little of your shoulder. " The paramedic rocked back on his heels and looked up at Peter.

"I hear a but…" he looked down at the kid's name tag. "What's the but…Dougherty?"

"It's gonna need to be stitched…I can put some butterflies on it and bandage it, but you really ought to probably just come on in to the hospital and get it properly stitched." He sulked back a little when he caught Peter's menacing look.

"Just do it here. I'm not…"

"You're going. Not another word." Peter looked up to see his Hughes standing in front of him, holding up a finger to keep him quiet. "Take Elizabeth and go get that looked at properly."

"But, sir, this is my house."

"I know. That is why you shouldn't be here. I'll see to things here. You go; you can come back after that's been tended to." His eyes flicked over to where Neal was sitting, his shirt damp with blood as well. "Take him too, have him checked."

Peter slumped down in his chair; he knew it wasn't worth fighting with Hughes. He had worked with and for him long enough to know when it was best to just shut up. That didn't mean he had to like it, but deep down, he knew Hughes was right. He looked over at Neal; Neal was looking back at him. His blue eyes looked tired, and worried.

"Alright. I'll go." He took a deep breath in, exhaling in a long sigh.

While Peter and Neal had been waiting on the doctor, they decided they weren't going to take Elizabeth back to the house for a while. After Peter shoulder was stitched, and Neal had been checked, they headed out to where the two women were. They sat in the hospital waiting room for a few long minutes, no one daring to mention the night's events. It was Neal who finally broke the silence.

"We could take Elizabeth to June's."

Peter shot him a quizzical look. Was he mad? There were obviously still holes in his memory.

"Uh Neal… You're apartment's still a wreck."

"It's a big house Peter, in case you hadn't noticed." He teased, trying to lighten the mood. "You know June wouldn't mind."

"She might if we wake her up at three in the morning." Peter pointed out. Although he knew it was probably the best option they had right now.

"I can get a unit to keep an eye on them." Diana offered.

"Do you mind?" Peter asked Elizabeth. "It'll just be for a little while."

"That's fine. If you don't think June will mind, Neal…" She shot him a questioning look.

Neal stood up and pulling his phone out of his coat pocket, he headed for the door to call June. Peter held Elizabeth's hand in his, absently rubbing his thumb along the tops of her fingers. She leaned her head against his good shoulder and closed her eyes, grateful that he hadn't needed more than a few stitches. The three sat in silence once again, waiting for Neal to return.

"She said she's putting the coffee on right now." Neal said as he came back to where they were sitting, his blue eyes twinkling with delight at the thought of the Italian roast that would be waiting for them.


	11. Chapter 11

I don't own White Collar, or the characters. Just playing until January.

Chapter Eleven

Neal couldn't help the feeling of unease as they walked down the path to June's front door, fresh snow crunching under their feet. The details from earlier in the week, the last time he had been at the house, were still fuzzy in his mind. He couldn't remember anything that had happened that night, or the few days leading up to it, all he had to go on was what Peter had told him, and what he had read in the files. It was like reading a bad horror novel. He noticed the rest of the group keeping an eye on him as they approached the door, and ran a hand through his hair, hoping they couldn't see the tension he felt.

The front lights came on as Neal started up the steps in front of the group. His anxiety melting away, as June opened the door to greet him. She stood in the doorway, arms reaching out for him in a motherly fashion, her face soft and caring.

"Oh, it's so good to see you up and about, Neal." He leaned down and let her wrap her arms around him for a brief moment.

"Thank you…June." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before letting him go.

"I hear you all have had an eventful night. The coffee is done, and I have some scones heating up in the oven." She stepped back out of the doorway, ushering everyone in, closing the door to the cold weather.

"I hope we're not putting you out." Peter watched her face as he said it.

"Oh, no. Don't be silly. Why don't you all go into the sitting room? I have a nice fire going." She pointed to a cozy looking room off to the right of the entry way. "Neal, would you help me for a minute?"

She didn't wait for an answer, as she headed back towards the kitchen, she knew he was following. The warmth of the kitchen and the smell of the coffee and the food was such a contrast to the last few hours. He leaned up against the kitchen counter, watching June arrange the coffee cups and saucers on a silver tray. She had the floral painted china coffee pot already full of coffee, sitting on another tray, along with the cream and sugar. June noticed when he started staring at the floor, walked over and gently patted him on the shoulder.

"It'll be alright Neal. Peter will get to the bottom of all this." Neal glanced up at her when he felt her touch. His blue eyes filled with the concern and fear that he wasn't afraid to show around her.

He stayed quiet while June finished preparing the trays, and helped her carry them into the sitting room. The fire was roaring, filling the whole room with a warm yellow glow. His three companions sat chatting idly, almost as if the night's events had just been a bad dream that he had just woken from. He sat close by in a large arm chair near the fireplace, closing his eyes for a few minutes. Sitting there, in the warmth of the fire, hearing his friends in the background he could almost convince himself that this week had never happened. He could feel his body begging for sleep, his eyes felt like they were pulsing behind his eye lids. The conversation soon turned back to the scene at Peter's house, and then it was silent. He opened his eyes to see only Diana. He crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee, sitting across from her.

"How long was I out? He asked wearily.

"About half an hour. June's settling Elizabeth into the guest room. We'll leave as soon as Peter get's back down here."

Neal nodded into his coffee cup. The warm and bitter liquid warming parts of his body the fire hadn't reached. It didn't take long for Peter to return with June, and they all said their goodbyes. Reluctantly heading back out into the cold winter air, Neal noticed it was starting to snow again.

Peter held his coat tightly over the sling his left arm was in as they walked towards the federal building, Diana leading the way this time. He kept any eye on his younger partner who was walking beside him. Neal's blue eyes barely visible through his half closed eye lids, he walked very slowly and methodically. It was barely four thirty in the morning, and they sky was still dark. Up on the 21st floor were the only lights on in the building, except for the lobby. He knew Hughes and Jones were waiting for them. As they rode the elevator, he let himself settle against the back wall next to Neal, closing his own eyes for the short length of the ride up. The medication the hospital had given him had taken the pain out of his shoulder, but it was making him feel a little unsteady. The ding announcing their arrival seemed much louder than normal as the doors opened. He followed Diana out of the elevator, making sure Neal was following behind him. Peter caught his boss's concerned look as they entered the conference room.

"I thought it was just a graze?" Hughes was pointing to the sling.

"It is. They just don't want me pulling the stitches by moving my arm around." Peter shrugged off his coat, folding it over the back of one of the chairs. "Where's Jones?"

"He went down to see what files he could pull on Gallo and DeLuca. I already talked to Henry over in Organized Crime. They're not too happy about all this. They don't want us going near any of it."

Peter let out a low frustrated snort. "They're not too happy about this…Christ Reese…do they think I _want_ my house broken into in the middle of the night?"

Peter couldn't stand still. Fear, anger and anxiety were slowly being replaced with frustration and rage. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to steady his breath. Were they really going to have to fight over jurisdictional red tape on this? Those bastards were more than happy to share information when they wanted to borrow Neal. He dropped his hand and opened his eyes, turning when he heard Jones enter the room.

"I got nothing. They must have everything locked up in the office." Jones shrugged.

"So now what? I can't go back to my place; Neal can't go back to his place…" Peter held up his hand and gestured at Neal, catching a glimpse of him for the first time since entering the conference room.

Neal sat in a chair pulled away from the table, right leg crossed over his left, slumping enough so that he could lean his head against the back of the chair. His hands were folded in his lap, and his eyes were closed. Peter could tell his breathing was slightly labored as a spasm ran through his body. His heart sank at the sight of him, and he hoped that he was sleeping. He turned back to Hughes, he opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again when he couldn't find the words. He finally took a seat, resting his head in his hands, elbows on the table.

"When do we expect Agent Henry to be in?" Peter tried to keep his voice calm as he addressed his boss without lifting his head.

"He was up in Middletown when I talked to him at quarter till three. He shouldn't be much longer. Peter…" He waited for Peter look up at him. "Neal OK?"

"I don't think he's had his pain medication." Peter glance at Neal over his shoulder, then back at his boss.

"Oh…yeah…I forgot…" Jones walked over beside Peter, pulling a pill bottle out of his pocket and setting it down on the table. "I grabbed these from your house. Those the right ones?"

Peter picked up the bottle and read the label.

"Yeah, those are them." He was relieved that the junior agent had thought to go looking for them.

"I'll get him some coffee to take them with." Diana spoke up finally. She had been quietly leaning against the glass at the front of the room. Peter nodded and she left.

Agent Henry had finally arrived toting a large stack of file boxes with him. The man must have been in his early sixties, Peter guessed from his graying hair, and haggard expression. He was wearing faded blue jeans, a green plaid flannel shirt, a heavy tan Carhart jacket, and work boots that were the same color. It was a far cry from the suit and tie the man had been wearing the last time Peter had seen him.

Peter kept a wary eye on the man, as the team sat in silence, trying to take in the amount of information they were reading through. There were years of records from C.I.s and undercover agents, accounting for everything from murder to racketeering, all the way down to petty theft. There were files on everyone ever suspected to have been in connection with the crime family. Peter couldn't help but feel like something wasn't adding up. It was Neal who finally broke the silence.

"You had us going after the wrong one." Peter could see fury barely concealed in his blue eyes.

"Excuse me?" Agent Henry retorted.

"You had us take down Anthony DeLuca. You didn't tell us he was Anthony DeLuca _Junior_." Neal tossed the open file over to Peter. "You almost got me killed…You son of a…"

"Neal…" Peter held up a hand to cut him off. He turned his attention to Henry. "Why didn't we know about this?"

"Anthony DeLuca Senior has been out of the picture for a few years now. It was believed that Junior had had him killed, but we were never able to prove it."

"You have evidence to prove otherwise now?" Peter could feel his blood starting to boil. It was everything he could do not to jump across the table and strangle the man.

"One of our undercover men took these photos about five days ago." Agent Henry opened the folder he had been holding on to, sliding a couple of photos out on the table.

Neal picked up one of the glossy still images. Two men were standing on a street corner, after having exited a limo. The man on the left had his back turned to the camera. He was middle aged, and thickly built, wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans. The man on the right, closest to the car, was older, short and thin. He stood facing towards the buildings on the left, his face partially hidden. He wore a camel colored ankle length cashmere coat, and a brown suit.

Peter saw Neal shoot up out of his chair, dropping the photograph onto the table as he clutched his side, racing backwards until the wall stopped him. His breath was hitching, face pale, and body trembling. Peter pushed himself up out of the chair, and placed a hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Neal? Breath buddy… It's OK." Peter glared over at Henry. He had never liked the man, but now, because of what had happened, he hated the man.


	12. Chapter 12

I don't own White Collar or the characters. Just having fun with them until January.

Author's Note: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers. I hope you guys are still enjoying the story, it seems to be taking on a life of its own. You'll have to ask Peter and Neal where it's all going, 'cause they haven't told me yet ;)

Chapter Twelve

Once Peter had cleared the room, he led Neal back to the chairs and helped him sit down. He pulled a second chair around, and sat facing Neal. It pained him to see his partner like this again; this whole week had been one awful roller coaster ride. He watched and waited, until the tremors had stopped and Neal's breathing returned to normal. His blue eyes were wild as he looked back at Peter.

"You're OK." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I'm Fine." Neal slowly inhaled a deep breath, his posture starting to relax as he exhaled. He took a minute to try and bury the emotions he was feeling. He carefully ran a hand through his hair, easing his body back in the chair.

"You've seen that man before haven't you?" Peter asked cautiously. He picked up Neal's coffee, handing it to him.

"Yeah. I just can't remember..." Peter could hear the anger and frustration in Neal's voice. "…but I know I've seen him."

"Maybe I should have Diana take you back to June's. You don't need to be here for all this."

"I'm staying."

"Neal…"

"No Peter. Don't pull me off this. This is personal."

"Which is why you shouldn't be here." Neal quietly chuckled to himself looking at Peter in disbelief.

"So you're going to pull yourself off the case as well?" Neal leaned closer to Peter, his eyes narrowing.

"It's not the same." Peter was getting frustrated now; he leaned against the back of his chair, putting some space between himself and his partner. He could see how this was affecting Neal, and he felt the need to protect him. He didn't need to relive the horrors from the beginning of the week, did he?

"Why? Because I almost died?" Neal's eyes grew darker, fury lingering just under the surface in his voice. "I seem to remember you in the emergency room this morning."

There was a knock on the door, interrupting the dispute. Neal leaned back in his chair, carefully concealing his thoughts, as Diana opened the door to the conference room.

"What?" It came out harsher than Peter had intended. He didn't want to admit that Neal had him annoyed.

"We've got an ID on the second victim from…this morning." Diana chose her words carefully, not wanting to say 'your house'.

Peter pointed a finger at Neal. "This conversation isn't over."

"Unless you're going to put me back in prison, I think it is. I need some air." Neal stood up as quickly as his aching body would let him, and headed out of the room, not looking back at Peter.

"You want me to keep an eye on him, Boss?" Diana thumbed at Neal, over her shoulder.

"No…just give him some space." Peter paused, sucking in a deep breath, and letting it out in a sigh. "Who we got?"

"Angelo DeLuca." She dropped the file down on the table in front of Peter. "Anthony DeLuca Senior's youngest son."

"Shit." Peter felt like he'd just been run over by a dump truck. "Why wasn't _he_ known to us either?"

"Agent Henry claims that he went off the grid at the same time as Senior." Diana moved closer to Peter, sitting on the edge of the table, keeping her back to the door of the room.

"Claims?" Peter raised an eye brow, curiously.

"I've just got a bad feeling about all this, Boss. I think there is something Agent Henry isn't telling us." She leaned down a little closer to Peter. "He wouldn't be the first to put Caffrey in harm's way."

Peter reluctantly nodded in agreement. He clearly remembered when Agent Rice had been all too eager to trade Neal's life for the uncertain return of a kidnap victim. Peter knew that there were a number of agents who only saw Neal's Past, the fact that he was a felon. He stood, pacing the room for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around all of this. Could Henry be playing them? It didn't seem like he would have to gain. He stopped and looked through the glass wall at the front of the room, where he expected to be able to see Neal sitting at his desk. The desk was empty. He turned back to Diana.

"Where's Neal?" She shrugged, giving him a perplexed look. Peter walked to the door, scanning the nearly empty lower level of the office, "Jones you seen Neal?"

Neal flipped up the collar of his dark grey wool overcoat, and pulled his fedora farther down on his face. It had stopped snowing, and the morning air was cold and crisp. He gazed down from the top of the federal building at the city below him. He loved this city. Lights were starting to come on, and they twinkled against the fresh snow that had fallen over night. He could hear the snow plows below him, getting ready for the morning traffic that was soon to come.

His thoughts drifted back to Peter, making his whole body tense a little. He shoved his clenched hands down into his pockets. He wasn't a child; he could take care of himself. He certainly didn't need Peter telling him what he did or didn't need.

He kicked at a little snow drift with his toe. This whole case was just a mess anyway, with each department's territorial pissings. Organized Crime had requested their help to try and bring down the DeLuca's on money laundering and forgery, wanting to use Neal to worm his way to the top and tie the case together. But they hadn't wanted to give them any information on the operations. He had worked his way in as a forger; getting exclusive entrance to areas of their operations the other agents hadn't been able to access. But, somehow they had found out who he was. Had somebody leaked his identity? It was possible, he guessed, that someone from his past had recognized his work. A feeling of guilt washed over him. Had he inadvertently endangered Peter and Elizabeth?

"I am so sorry Peter." He whispered to himself under his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind. He heard footsteps behind him, and he stiffened.

"I can see the headlines now… FBI consultant…no wait…ex-con, Neal Caffrey plummets to his death from the top of the Federal Building, after compromising ongoing investigation."

Neal recognized Agent Henry's voice. He could feel anger and resentment swelling up inside of him. He turned, no longer trying to suppress the anger he had been feeling all morning.

"I didn't. You compromised the whole operation when you wouldn't give us all the information. You sent me in there blind."

"You had everything you needed. Too much, apparently. Got yourself in there good…what did you think you were going to do? Take over for Junior?"

"I wouldn't…"

"Oh save it. You're a felon. You really expect me to believe anything you say? Frankly, I'm a little disappointed in Burke. He's a legend, but I think he's slipping a little, having so much faith in you." He moved a few steps closer to Neal. "Something has to be done. Having a pet convict running around is clouding his judgment."

The words hit him like a sharp knife to his chest, taking all the air out of his lungs. He backed away from the man slowly, hands up in front of him, in a submissive gesture. He hadn't taken more than a few steps when he felt the short wall on the edge of the building come up behind him.

"I didn't compromise anything. You wouldn't have your indictments without me." He put one hand back behind him, feeling the ledge against his back, as he watched the agent walk towards him. The words almost seemed hollow, without the memories to back them up. But he knew he wouldn't endanger Peter, and he certainly wouldn't have blown the operation, not intentionally.

"I wouldn't have Anthony DeLuca Senior back in town, if it wasn't for you. He didn't show back up until you got involved. What kind of deal did you make with him?" The man finished crossing the distance to where Neal was standing.

"I didn't…"

Neal let out a cry as a fist slammed into the stitches in his side, pain flashing through his body like a bolt of lightning. His body fell forward slightly, before it was caught by a hand holding him up. A second blow fell against his ribs; the pain was so piercing that he couldn't catch his breath. He clenched his teeth, trying to steady his swimming head.

"It was you. You told him who I was." He tried to pull back, but his body didn't want to move.

"He may have received an anonymous tip." Agent Henry gave a menacing grin. "I couldn't let you compromise my agents. You're nothing more than a liability to this office, even if Burke refuses to see it."

When the third blow fell, he felt a snap, the blood roaring loudly in his head. He felt his body being pushed back against the ledge; he had to keep Henry talking, Peter would get worried and come looking for him.

"So you sold me out? You could've gotten Peter killed." He could feel the warmth of blood starting to stream down his side. The fresh stitches having had no chance against this onslaught.

"Maybe you should have protected him by dying the first time." The agent's other hand reached up tightly around his throat, pulling him slightly off the ground.

Neal gasped for breath, the cold air refusing to fill his lungs. He could feel himself starting to black out. He heard the stairwell door open, somebody was yelling. The voices were muffled as he fought to stay conscious.

"Put him down Henry." Peter pulled his firearm as step out onto the roof. He could see Agent Henry across in front of him, holding Neal over the edge. He stepped sideways, holding the door open with his foot, quietly motioning to Diana as she came up the stairs behind him. He motioned for her to flank him to the left, as he walked slowly forwards, letting the door gently close behind them.

"You going to shoot me, Burke?" Agent Henry laughed as he said it, keeping his eyes on Neal.

"If I have to." Peter was within a few yards of them. He watched as Neal's eye lids fluttered, and saw the whites of his eyes as they rolled back in his head, his body going limp.

"He was going to turn on us. He was going to ruin everything I've worked my whole career for."

Peter was confused. Was he talking about Neal? The older man turned, letting Neal's lifeless body slump to the ground. There was madness in Henry's eyes. Peter wanted to go to Neal, make sure he was still alive, but Henry started forward.

"Don't come any closer, Henry."

"You're a fool Burke. That man is nothing more than a criminal." He pointed behind him at Neal. "My CIs said he was teaming up with them. He's the reason Senior is back in town. He was going to bring us all down."

"He wouldn't. He's not that person anymore. "

"I seem to remember him holding an OPR Agent at gun point. You're judgment is clouded, people don't ever change."

"Changed or not, he never would have worked for the mob. Senior is back because we took Junior out of play."

"He was going to be Senior's right hand man. And I put a stop to it before he could endanger our agents. Imagine DeLuca's surprise to find out he had an FBI consultant in his inner circle." His eyes narrowed a little. "You may have killed Ricky and Angelo, but you know DeLuca won't stop until he's dead. Just let it happen Burke, you know we're all better off without him."

Peter's eyes shifted to Neal when he thought he saw movement. In that instant, Henry reached for his gun. A shot rang out; Henry's eyes grew wide in shock, the weapon falling to the snow. He clutched a hand to the right side of his chest, blood oozing out around his fingers. He stumbled forward a few steps, falling to his knees.

"You got him?" Peter looked over to see Diana standing just to his left.

"Yeah I got him. Get Caffrey."

Peter ran the few steps to Neal, kneeling down in the snow beside him, rolling him onto his back. He leaned down and put an ear to Neal's chest, there was a faint heart beat, but he wasn't breathing. He heard Diana call for two ambulances as he started CPR.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't own White Collar, or any of the character...Just having fun until Jan!

Chapter Thirteen

_Everything was dark, but he could hear somebody calling his name. He turned, a man with sinister green eyes stared back at him, holding a pistol level with his chest._

"_You're a dead man, Neal Caffrey."_

_An older man appeared beside him, dressed in brown. His face made Neal want to turn and run, but he couldn't. He put a hand on Neal's shoulder as he spoke._

"_The FBI should have stayed out of our business. They took my son from me, so I'm going to take you from them. It's their fault you have to die." _

_He felt something cold and hard being pressed against his side. He looked back to the man with the green eyes, who was holding the gun to him. He tried to speak but nothing came out, frantically glancing back and forth between the two men._

"_I'm going to kill your partner and his pretty wife when I'm done with you." The older man patted him on the shoulder and took a step back._

_He heard the shot go off, the men were gone and he was alone in the darkness. He looked down; his white shirt was turning red with his own blood. He felt himself slipping into the darkness._

Peter watched in horror as Neal was rushed into the emergency room, the doors shut in his face. Neal's heart had stopped as the ambulance had pulled into the hospital. Now he watched through a tiny glass window as they shocked him with the defibrillator. Once…twice… each time his body convulsed. Peter wasn't sure he could watch, but he couldn't pull himself away. He couldn't leave Neal.

"Peter?" He heard a familiar voice call his name. A minute passed and he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. "Peter?"

He turned and looked blankly at the man. It took his dazed mind a few seconds to process the face.

"Dr. Matthews?" The man shook his head. He had trouble finding words, so Peter just pointed to the doors in front of him. "Neal…heart…stopped…"

"I'll take care of him." He patted Peter's shoulder, and turned his head towards one of the nurses. "Dana, will you take Agent Burke to the chairs please?"

Peter watched him disappear through the doors, before allowing the nurse to lead him away.

Peter checked his watch nervously for the tenth time, as he paced the waiting room. It had only been twenty minutes, but it just might have been the longest twenty minutes of his life. He was pulling out his cell phone to call Elizabeth when Dr. Matthews appeared in the doorway.

"Peter."

"He's OK?" He reached out and grabbed the back of a chair for support. The slight smile on the young surgeon's face sent a shudder of relief through Peter.

"He was gone for about four minutes, but we were able to get him back." Dr. Matthews crossed the room to where Peter was standing. "He's being put in a room now. He'll need to stay overnight for observation. He's in room 419."

"Thank you, Dr. Matthews." Peter paused. "I'm just curious…you're not an ER doctor, why were you down here?"

The man smiled. "Just fate I guess. The ER was short staffed this morning."

"Well, I'm grateful." He shook the doctor's hand before heading out to find Neal's room.

Peter had used the time in the elevator to call Elizabeth, relaying Neal's condition, and promising to call when he knew more. Neal was sleeping when Peter walked into his room. The all too familiar beep of the heart monitor was reassuring in its own way. Peter walked over and gingerly ran a hand through his partner's hair, smoothing it away from his eyes. He carefully examined the thin nasal oxygen tube, and single IV line. This time, he did look peaceful, he thought to himself. He hung his overcoat across the back of the couch, and was about to sit down when there was a knock on the door.

"Boss?" Diana whispered as she poked her head into the room.

He held up a hand and pointed back out of the room, following her out to the hallway where they could talk.

"How's Henry?" Peter asked once the door was shut.

"The bullet shattered his 3rd rib, and punctured his lung. They're worried about the larger pieces moving around and damaging his heart, but he's not stable enough for surgery yet."

"Breaks my heart." Peter said to himself, under his breath.

"Boss?"

"Nothing. Thanks for the update. Did you put guards on his room?"

"Yeah. Donaldson's team is going to take rotating shifts tonight. I've put in a request for somebody to come watch Neal's door as well. Jones is on his way to sit until they get here. I've got to get back to the office, Hughes called and said OPR is going nuts."

"Thanks Diana…play nice with OPR. It'll be fine." He desperately hoped it would be, OPR had been known to ruin a good agent's career over something like this.

"I'm always nice." She smiled, and placed a hand on his arm. "Get some sleep. I'll see you later."

He waited until she had stepped onto the elevator before going back into Neal's room. He pulled the window blinds closed, leaving only a small table lamp on in the room, and lay down on the couch. His shoulder was starting to throb, and his head ached. It didn't take long before he was in a dreamless sleep.

Neal woke to the sound of someone snoring. He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to acclimate to the dim light in the room. He pulled himself onto his elbows, looking in the direction of the noise, to find Peter curled uncomfortably on the tiny couch.

"Peter…" His voice cracked as it came out. He smiled as Peter jerked, and slowly opened his eyes. "You're snoring."

"Neal." He smiled back at his partner. "You OK?"

"Yeah, Peter. I'm fine."

"You had us worried there for a little while." He crossed to the bed, pulling a chair close and sitting down again. He was glad to see everything but the IV had been removed.

"I'm fine." Peter was surprised to see a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Elizabeth and June were here earlier."

"Earlier? What time is it? How long have you been up?" Neal laughed at his confusion.

"Well…ahh…clock says two thirty. I guess they were here around noon or so."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"We tried to, sleeping beauty." Neal drew in a breath, and his face grew serious suddenly. "Peter…whatever Henry told you about me…" Peter held up a hand to stop him.

"It's alright Neal. I know he served you up to DeLuca." Neal nodded silently, his blue eyes looked weary.

"What happened to Henry?"

"He pulled a gun on me when I came up to the roof to find you. Diana shot him. Don't know if he made it or not." Peter watched as Neal warily fingered the sheets, processing the information.

"He…DeLuca…isn't going to stop." His voice was pained, his eyes shifted a little but he didn't turn back to Peter.

"Yes he is. We'll stop him." Peter reached out and touched Neal on the arm, getting his attention. "You're safe here, don't worry about it. Just try and rest."

There was a moment of silence, and out of nowhere, Neal sat up in the bed, gently tucking his legs cross-legged underneath him, facing Peter. There was a glimmer in his eye, and his face was slightly mischievous. Peter recognized the look, and rarely did anything good come after it. He chuckled to himself, preparing for whatever scheme Neal had cooked up.

"What, Neal?"

"Did you hear…the new terrace doors went in this morning? Peter rolled his eyes.

"You're staying here until morning…Doctor's orders."

"I can be released any time I want…AMA."

"Hey Neal…did you hear…they have a hospital wing at the prison…" Peter teased back, smiling when Neal pouted just a little.

There was a knock on the door that interrupted Peter's revelry.

"Hey Jones. Come on in. He's up." The younger agent crossed the room to where Peter was sitting.

"Hey Boss. Neal." Jones nodded to Neal.

"What's wrong?" Peter could tell by the way the younger agent carried himself that something wasn't right.

"You..ah…want to step outside?" Jones motioned with his head in Neal's direction. "It's about Henry."

Peter considered the statement for a minute. Something was off, but he figured Neal would find out about it sooner or later.

"No it's fine. What's going on?"

"Agent Henry died on the operating table forty five minutes ago."

"Shit." Peter closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Not really wanting to know the answer to the next question. "OPR going after Diana?"

"Yeah…they called down and had her put on suspension as soon as the call came in." Peter could hear the distress in his voice.

"Neal…I've got to go fix this." Peter looked to Neal, relieved to see the acknowledgement in his eyes.

"Go Peter. I'll be fine."

"You stay put." Peter pointed his finger at Neal to emphasize that he was serious, before following Jones out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

I don't own White Collar or the characters, just having some fun with them until January!

Chapter Fourteen

As unbalanced as the whole week had been, Peter had to admit, Neal was looking like his old self again. Although he still had no recollection of his abduction or the week prior to it, other than what was written in the case files, Neal was Neal. Peter shot a glance over at him as he guided the Taurus through the holiday traffic. Neal sat looking out the window, his mind off somewhere else, as always. There was comfort in the familiarity of the silence. As Peter turned the car down the street towards June's house, he saw a wry smile creeping across Neal's face, his blue eyes twinkling with a clarity they had previously been lacking. Diana was waiting for them when Peter parked the car in front of the old white stone house.

"Hey boss. I'll get those." She walked to the car, taking the box of files out of the car's trunk. "How's the shoulder?"

"It's fine."

Peter watched as Neal carefully unfolded himself out of the front passenger seat, steadying himself on the car door. He still had some concerns about letting Neal back into his apartment so soon, but Neal had been insistent. And, with Diana on suspension until her hearing, this was the best place they had to work if they wanted to include her. He walked next to Diana, letting Neal lead the way to the door. There was no hesitation in his step, but Peter couldn't see his face. Not that it would have mattered anyway, Neal was off the heavy pain killers, and could hide behind those eyes of his again.

Neal walked steady up the stairs to his apartment, a little unsure of what he would find. Standing just inside the door, he took a moment to glance around the space. Other than a new area rug under the dining table, everything seemed to be in its place. Neal knew June had put it there to cover the stain from the broken wine bottle, not having had the time to have the floors redone. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, letting his shoulders relax a little. It felt good to be back, it was almost like the week had never happened. He just wished he didn't know that it had, but he knew it was all down in black and white, whether he remembered it or not.

Neal crossed to the wine rack, slowly lowering himself down so that the bottles were eye level. He would never admit it to Peter, but he needed something to take the edge off of the ache from the cracked rib. He decided on the Ornellaia Bolgheri, slipping it out of its resting place, carefully pulling himself to his feet. He kept his face to the wine rack, hoping that Peter didn't see him clench his jaw until his breath came back to him.

Peter watched as Neal tried to hide his discomfort, but he couldn't hide the fact that the color had drained from his face for that split second. He knew that he would be hard pressed to get Neal to admit that he was still in pain, but he had suffered through worse this week, so Peter decided to let it go.

.

It was well after dinner time when Peter finally sent his team home. The shear amount of paperwork Henry's team had collected on the DeLuca family was overwhelming, and the files were unfortunately not organized in any logical fashion, that Peter could surmise. He stood looking out through the terrace doors, taking in the beauty of the view, trying to wrap his head around everything he had read. The white iron table, with its fresh coat of paint caught his attention. June really had done a good job of getting rid of any sign of the attack, the thought sent a chill through Peter's body. He glanced back at Neal, who still sat at the table, self-medicating with a bottle of Pinot now that everyone was gone.

"June and Elizabeth probably have supper ready by now." He crossed to where Neal sat, picking up the bottle of wine, and replaced the cork, setting out of reach.

"Really not that hungry, Peter." Neal's eyes were just a tad glazed over, and there was a slight slur to his voice.

"You're gonna feel like shit if you don't eat." Peter leaned a hip on the table, so he could face Neal.

"I already feel like shit." He shrugged his shoulders, slowly bringing his eyes up to met Peter's. "I have an idea."

"This ought to be good." Peter said it more to himself, as he sat down in the chair next to Neal.

"When's Diana's hearing?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." He waited while Neal seemed to process the information.

"Well, I don't figure we need any of this..." Neal waved his hand in the direction of the stack of boxes containing Henry's files. "…if we get DeLuca charged with 3 counts of attempted murder. You can give all this back to Organized Crime, and they can deal with it."

"Yeah, well…one problem with all that Neal. We can't prove any of it."

"So we go to him…draw him out…get him to try it again."

"That would be easier if you could remember where you were last week." Peter regretted saying it, but was grateful the alcohol seemed to buffer it a little in Neal's mind.

"I'm working on it." He gave Peter a half drunk grin. "Go eat with your wife; I think I'm going to lie down."

.

Peter decided to check on Neal before heading for the guest room June had put him and Elizabeth in. The apartment door was unlocked, so he let himself in. Neal's bed was empty and the terrace doors were wide open. As Peter locked them shut, he heard a noise coming from the direction of the bathroom, recognizing it as Neal heaving. The fact that he had done it to himself, only made Peter feel worse for him. As he knocked on the door, it swung open; he reached in and turned on the light, finding Neal on the floor. The dry heaves turned into a coughing fit, and Peter crossed over and put a hand on his shoulder. He was freezing cold; his body trembled under Peter's hand.

"Neal, what in God's name…" He stopped short when Neal coughed up some blood. "You're going back to the hospital."

"No. I'm fine." He tried to push Peter away, but Peter just grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet.

"What the hell did you do to yourself?" Peter put a hand on each of Neal's shoulders, keeping him steady on his feet, his body still racked with tremors.

"I was sitting out on the patio…and…" Neal brought his eyes up to meet Peter's, they were dark and heated.

"You remembered." Neal nodded his head in agreement. "How much?"

"All of it."

"This was stupid Neal. You didn't need to do this to yourself." Peter tried, but failed to hide the anger in his voice.

"We needed to know…" Neal pulled away from Peter, heading for the couch and sitting down.

.

Peter went about brewing a pot of coffee in silence, letting Neal rest on the couch. He was worried about his partner, but in a way he was glad they would finally get some answers. The knowledge of what Neal had done to himself to get those answers made him feel guilty; they would be lucky if he didn't come down with pneumonia. There was a knock on the door, and Peter crossed the room to answer it.

"Peter?" Elizabeth poked her head in. "Is Neal OK?"

"Yeah…ah…come on in. He's on the couch." Peter shut the door behind her and went to pour the coffee.

"Peter…what did you do to him?" Elizabeth shot him a look over her shoulder.

"Nothing…I didn't…" he carried the coffee over to where Neal and Elizabeth were sitting, and took a chair opposite Neal.

"He didn't do anything El." Neal flashed half smile at her, before erupting into another coughing fit.

"Jesus, Neal you're going back to the hospital." Peter started to get up, but Neal waved a hand to stop him.

"I'm fine. It's nothing a hot shower won't fix." He stood and headed back to the bathroom, leaving Elizabeth looking confusingly at Peter.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't own White Collar or the characters, just having some fun with them until January!

Chapter Fifteen

Neal felt like shit.

He sat outside the conference room with Peter and Diana, waiting to hear OPR's decision on the incident with Agent Henry. He and Peter had both been required to testify as to their version of the events. How could they deny what had happened, when he himself had nearly been killed by Henry? Peter had assured him that this hearing was routine, but Neal could tell he was still worried. Even if they found the shooting defensible, they could still potentially put her on leave, keeping her from assisting with catching DeLuca.

Every time he would let out a quiet cough, Peter would shoot a worried glance in his direction. Neal closed his eyes, and let his head hang down, contemplating last evening. He wasn't sure which he regretted more, the six glasses of wine or sitting on the terrace with no jacket, freezing his ass off for an hour. It had worked though; with his mind loosed up by the alcohol the cold had triggered the lost memories, in all their gory detail. The thought of it all made him a little queasy. He was annoyed with himself for not locking the door; he hated the fact that Peter had been privy to the aftermath. Peter was still pissed.

The door behind him opened, the agent motioned for Diana to return to the room, and once again closed the door behind her. He shifted in his seat, his body ached and his head was pounding. Peter kept one eye on him, but didn't speak. The silence was killing him.

"You and Elizabeth going to get to go home soon?" He asked casually.

"Why? Don't want me around the next time you pull a stupid stunt like that?" Peter could tell the words hit home a little too harshly, when Neal adverted his eyes.

"We needed to know…" It was almost a whisper.

"Neal…" Peter tried to fight down the annoyance he felt.

"Please don't Peter."

"Don't what? Don't tell you that I worry about you? That you scared the hell out of me last night? Don't forget that I was sitting there watching while your heart stopped, not two days ago…" Peter held up two fingers, shaking them at Neal; he couldn't contain his frustration any longer. "And you do something like this. Your body can't take much more, Neal. You catch pneumonia it could kill you…for what?"

"For What?" Neal's voice took on a razor's edge, his eyes narrowed. "I did it to protect you…to protect Elizabeth. They were in your house because of me, Peter, they could have killed you…killed her. And I couldn't live with that any longer. We have to get them."

Neal launched into another coughing fit, having to hold his side to ease the pain from the cracked rib and still healing wound. Peter just stared blankly at him, not knowing what to say. He was grateful when Diana emerged out of the conference room, gun and badge in hand, interrupting the awkward silence.

"What did they decide?" Peter asked, still keeping an eye on Neal.

"They decided the shooting was justified. I'm back to work." She smiled to Peter, while attaching her holster at her hip.

"Good we've got work to do." Peter gently grabbed Neal under one arm, helping him to his feet. "Go ahead on back to the office; we've got to make a stop on the way.

"Sure thing, Boss." She glanced at Neal, and then back to Peter. "Say 'Hi' to Dr. Matthews for me."

.

Once they had left the hospital, Neal sat in the passenger's seat, sulking with his black fedora pulled down as far over his eyes as it would go. Peter was past the point of caring whether he was mad or not, at least he wasn't coughing anymore. He guided the Taurus into his spot in the parking garage, turned off the engine and sat silently looking at Neal.

"Neal…"

"hmmm…"

"You at least will admit you feel better, right?"

"Oh sure, I just love spending quality time with Nurse Ratchet."

Peter decided he would have to resign himself to the fact that Neal was at least talking, not just uttering syllables like he had been at the hospital. They rode the elevator up to the office in silence, Neal moping against the back wall. Peter was pleased when they entered the conference room to find that Diana and Jones had everything already set up. All the crime scene photos from Neal's apartment, the beach, and Peter's house were up on a bulletin board, along with the photos of all the key players from the DeLuca syndicate. Peter asked the two junior agents to give them a few minutes alone, and watched as Neal inspected each photo, one by one; his expression was guarded. When he finally turned to look at Peter, there was no depth to his eyes.

"Neal…You OK?"

"Yeah…Yeah Peter I'm fine."

"Alright Neal, what are we missing?

"I'm not sure." Neal stood gazing out the back windows.

"You're not sure. That's just great." Peter threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Hey…come on… I was blacked out half the time."

"Well just start from the beginning." Peter motioned for Neal to sit, but he just kept staring out the window.

"The two that came to your house, Peter…they were the ones that came to the apartment."

"Ricky and Angelo?" Neal nodded as we crossed to the bulletin board and tapped on their photos.

"I heard Ricky say they were under orders to keep me alive, but he was trying to let Angelo grab me. Ricky had a Colt, Angelo wasn't armed until he grabbed the knife out of the kitchen." Neal was starting to feel ill, recounting the memories out loud, and took a seat across from Peter.

"So with Anthony Junior out of the picture, Senior must have wanted Angelo to pick up the slack…" Peter leaned back in his chair, mulling the thought over in his mind. "It still doesn't explain why he wasn't armed."

Neal just shrugged. He was starting to feel nauseous again. He settled into the back of his chair, desperately trying to put up a façade; there was no way he was going to let Peter know how he was feeling. Peter would either send him home or drag him back to the hospital, and he didn't want either of those. Besides, he was getting tired of people asking him how he was; his body ached, he felt sick, and his head pounded, and that was on a good day. Nearly dying twice in one week would do that to you, he supposed.

"Maybe he has to earn his gun." Neal hoped the look on his face hid his feelings. Peter just shook his head.

"I don't know…you wouldn't think so, with him being the new heir to the throne, so to speak."

"Unless Senior doesn't think he's got what it takes. Maybe Angelo disappeared out of the family business because he was seen as a weakling."

"And you didn't hear about Senior or Angelo while you were in there?"

"Nope." Neal shrugged. "As far as I knew, Junior was 'Angelo DeLuca', there was never any talk of any other boss, that I heard."

Peter got up from his chair and started pacing in front of the back windows.

"I'm not sure if we can prove Senior's involvement in any of this." He watched Neal's face carefully. "We don't have anything linking him to any of the crimes. Not the forgery, not the laundering, not even your abduction. The son of a bitch is careful."

"But he was _THERE_ Peter… I saw him." Neal frowned a little,it came out more like a whine than he had intended.

"You saw him?"

"Yeah…It must have been the same day that photo was taken." Neal pointed to the picture of DeLuca stepping out of the limo. "I recognize the suit. I'm guessing that's Ricky in the leather jacket."

"When did you see him, Neal?" Peter asked the question, his manner cautious, he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

"The night they tried to kill me."


	16. Chapter 16

Don't own White Collar or the characters, just having a little fun with them until January!

Chapter Sixteen

Neal watched as Peter paced furiously back and forth in front of him, only stopping long enough to give him a glare and a furious grunt. He wasn't completely comfortable with offering himself up for bait either, but he didn't see any other options.

"Give me one of those GPS recorder watches, let them cut the anklet, and they won't be the wiser."

"I don't care if you have a GPS tracker shoved up your ass; you're not doing it Neal." Peter finally stopped pacing and stood looking at Neal, his hands on his hips. "What if they just shoot you on sight? GPS gonna help you then?"

"They won't. DeLuca isn't stupid enough to come out in the open himself. He wanted to watch me suffer last time, and he will again." He paused watching Peter. "No, he'll have his goons take me back to wherever he's hiding. Then you can follow and grab him."

"No. I can't believe you even suggested this. You haven't even been out of the hospital a full week. What is this, third time's the charm?" Peter was way past trying to hide his anger. "You must be suicidal."

"Oh, so you'd rather they broke into your house again? Or June's?" Neal watched as Peter started pacing again, his face was red with anger. "Look if we arrange this, we can get the O.C. guys to do the grab, otherwise it's all bets off."

Peter stopped pacing and took his seat across from Neal. There was a strange glint in the younger man's eyes, he could only describe as an anxious tension. This had to be one of the dumbest ideas he had considered in a long time. Was he actually considering it? Peter didn't think Dr. Matthews would consider this 'taking it easy'. Peter absently rubbed his shoulder, the feeling of the bandage under his shirt bringing back memories that made a shiver run through his spine. Would either of them be able to sleep at night knowing that DeLuca was still out there, gunning for them?

"Peter…" Neal's tone was soft and pleading.

"I'll talk to Organized Crime." He pointed a finger at Neal. "No promises."

.

Neal paced the terrace in the cold night air. Knowing that someone was coming to kidnap you didn't make it any less terrifying, even if they were undercover agents. The thought of seeing DeLuca again was frightening all by itself. He checked the watch Peter had given him again, it was just past eleven. The two agents should be arriving soon; he swallowed the last sip of wine in his glass. He had needed one to settle his nerves. He wondered back inside, to his bedroom. He didn't see the need of destroying a third set of nice clothes this week. He changed into a ratty pair of blue jeans, an old faded turtle neck, and a sweatshirt. He wouldn't be fashionable, but at least he would be warm.

The pounding on the door made him jump. He was startled, when he opened it. The big burley man he recognized as being Agent Murphy from the Organized Crime division, he knew they called him Alek when he was undercover. The smaller of the two men was familiar as well, but he was not FBI, Neal had seen him in while at DeLuca's counterfeiting operations. The sight of the second man made Neal take a nervous step backwards. He reached his hands around his back, carefully taking the watch off, and slipping down inside his back pocket, pulling his sweatshirt down to cover it.

"Get your hands where I can see them." The little man growled, pulling the slide on his Smith and Wesson.

"Alright…Alright…Just take it easy." Neal held his hands up in front of him, guns were not supposed to be part of this. "Your DeLuca's men aren't you? Alek I think I know…but you I'm not so sure.

"Shut up."

"It's a shame…really."

.

Peter was sitting in the stake out van two blocks down from June's house. He hated being so far away, but they hadn't wanted to tip off DeLuca, even though they were using their own undercover agents for the staged kidnapping, criminals had a way of changing the rules. Neal had taught him that on one of their first cases together. Plan for the plan to change, he envisioned Neal saying. He could hear Neal pacing nervously and could only imagine the anguish he was in.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth when he heard the knock on the door through his head phones. He was starting to regret this; his gut was telling him something wasn't right. And his gut was never wrong. He heard Neal open the door, but then there was what sounded like static and the microphone got muffled.

"What did he say?" Peter turned to Jones who was sitting behind him. "Play that back."

"It's a shame…really." Peter felt panic sweeping over him as he heard Neal's voice replayed.

"Wasn't that the take down phrase?" Jones glanced back at Peter, a look of confusion in his eyes.

"Yeah it was." Peter grabbed the walkie-talkie. "All agents move in on Caffrey. I repeat, move in on Caffrey."

Peter knew there was no way to get the van moving in time. He opened the back door, and jumped out; he could make it there faster on foot. It seemed like it took an eternity to run the two blocks. As he approached the house, he pulled is sidearm and carefully crept to the entrance, listening for the calls from the swat team. Peter wanted to run up to the apartment, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to move slowly. He kept his gun out in front of him as he gently crept up the stairs. When he approached Neal's door, there was no sign of Neal, only the entry team. His could feel his chest start to tighten.

"We're clear. There's nobody here, Burke." The swat leader turned to him as he entered.

"How the hell did they get out of the house without anyone seeing them?"

"Not sure. That was lying there on the table when we came in." The man pointed to Neal's tracking anklet.

Peter nodded, dismissing the swat team, as he pulled out his cell phone.

"Jones. Neal's gone. Send a team up here to dust for prints, and pull up the signal on that GPS tracker. I'm headed back down."

Diana was waiting for him outside the van when he got there. One look at her face and he knew things were going bad, fast.

"Boss. Jones enhanced the audio from Caffrey's feed." Peter nodded and stepped back up into the van.

"Play it for me." He sat silently listening to Neal's voice play back on the computer. He looked back and forth between his two junior agents. "Did he just call one of them Alek?"

"Yeah. I think so." Jones nodded in agreement.

"Wasn't that Agent Murphy's cover ID?" Diana's voice was laced with concern.

"Yeah…It is. Do we have the tracking info on that GPS?"

"It's still moving. Headed north east currently." Jones pulled up the map on the computer monitor.

"Diana, you're with me. Jones, keep an eye on that GPS. I want to know the minute it stops moving. They've got a ten minute head start on us."

.

Neal now knew why his brilliant plan wasn't so brilliant. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the bright light that shone in front of him. His head was pounding from being cold cocked with the hand cannon Agent Murphy's little associate had been carrying. The metallic taste in his mouth told him that his nose was broken, and he could feel the blood starting to drip down the side of his face. At least they had stayed away from his ribs this time. He was thankful for that, but he still wasn't sure if Murphy was dirty or not. Maybe he was just saving the pain for later. He shuddered at the thought, Peter would find him soon. Neal opened his eyes just a little as he heard someone enter the room.

"Neal Caffrey." It was Agent Murphy, he was alone, and he shut the door behind him.

"Murphy. Where's your partner?" Neal watched uneasily as a wide grin flash across the agents face.

"Who? Agent Rodricks? I dealt with him earlier." The man's smile grew dark and dangerous. "He was being…difficult."

"You dirty son of a…"

"Uh...uh…uhhh…" Murphy playfully shook a finger at him, while he crossed the room. "You're gonna get yourself in trouble. And you know what we do with trouble makers?"

Neal felt all the air rush out of him, as Murphy landed a fist squarely in his stomach. His body fell forward, only to be caught by his hands that were duck taped behind him. The effort to suck his breath back in caused a piercing pain in his side. He tried to hide the grimace on his face.

"That rib still bothering you? Henry should have killed you went he had the chance. Well, you know what they say…third time's the charm."

Neal couldn't help but shriek a little as the man landed a blow on the broken rib. He tried to suck in a few ragged breaths. His head was spinning, and he could feel himself slipping into the darkness again. Hurry Peter, he begged to himself, as he passed out.


	17. Chapter 17

I don' own White Collar or the Characters...if I did I wouldn't have to entertain myself this way!

**Authors note: Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers. You make my day :-) The house is getting painted this week, so we might just get to the bottom of all this!**

Chapter Seventeen

_There was nothing but darkness in all directions. As he turned his head to the left he could see Peter, standing over a body that was lying face down in a pool of blood. Peter's face showed fear and worry, his eyes never leaving the body. _

"_I'm sorry boss." Diana had appeared next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder._

"_This is my fault. I never should have let him go." Peter crouched and rolled the body over carefully. "Damn it Neal, it wasn't supposed to be like this."_

"_NO! Peter! I'm right here…I'm not dead!" Peter didn't look up, couldn't he hear him? _

_He walked to where Peter was standing. As he reached out to touch Peter, the image disappeared, leaving him in darkness again. He spun around, frantically calling for his mentor, but Peter didn't return. _

A rough hand shook him awake. He opened his eyes slowly to find Murphy standing over him, his little partner standing just to his left. Neal wondered how long he had been out. What was taking Peter so long? The memory of the dream hung heavily on him, but he tried to push it out of his mind. Peter would get here in time. Or would he? Did Murphy know about the extra tracker Peter had given him? Did Peter even know where he was? He tried to scan the room, but the bright light behind Murphy was keeping everything else in the room too dark to make out.

"You can forget about trying to escape, Caffrey. We're going to have some fun as soon as the boss gets here." Murphy reached out and danced the tip of a knife across Neal's face. "I'm going to enjoy this."

"Oh, not as much as I am." Neal smirked a little, hoping Peter was near. He heard the door to the room open behind Murphy, and saw both men straighten as a figure approached from behind. He tried to squint out the light to see the man, but it was no use, the figure stayed in the shadows.

"Mr. Caffrey. I must say, you are looking quite unkempt tonight, not your normal disposition. Although, you do seem to be healing quite nicely from our last meeting." Neal recognized DeLuca Senior's voice. "You will forgive me for keeping back a ways. You see, I'm more of a spectator, I don't like getting my hands dirty."

Neal saw the little partner creep forward a bit, only to stop when Murphy shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye.

"He's mine." Murphy hissed.

"Now boys…don't fight. I'm sure there's plenty to go around." Neal heard DeLuca snicker.

Murphy brought the switchblade up to Neal's face again, dancing it down his cheek, and under his chin. Neal watched him, trying desperately to keep his eyes blank, trying not to give the mobster any satisfaction. He stiffened as he felt the knife press a little harder as it was run down the side of his neck. The reaction only seemed to excite Murphy, his eyes tinkled with a crazed anticipation as he seemed to contemplate his choices.

.

Peter pulled the Taurus into the lot where Jones said the tracker's signal was coming from. It was an old brick industrial warehouse. He scanned the area looking for any sign of Neal, or DeLuca, but didn't find anything. His heart sank, he hoped that they hadn't found the watch and dumped it here to throw them off. He turned the headlights off, creeping the car closer to the building.

"Boss." Diana hung up her cell phone. "Swat is five minutes out."

"Neal doesn't have five minutes." Peter quietly got out of the car, pulling his Glock out of its holster, quickly checking behind him to see if Diana was following.

"I'm behind you, Boss." Diana called over in a hushed voice, having to trot quickly to catch up.

They quietly felt their way down the side of the building, the sliver of the moon barely lighting their way. As they approached the half way point of the building, they found a small side door. Peter hesitantly reached out and tried the knob, it was unlocked. He glanced back at Diana, giving her a cautionary look as he pushed the door open with his toe. Peter pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket, holding in his left hand, crossing it under his right wrist to steady his firearm. The inside of the warehouse was dark. As they entered, Peter could see a faint glow from what looked like a hallway, in the far corner. As he swept the rest of the space with his light, he found the warehouse to be completely empty. He motioned to Diana to head along the far wall, and they met at the entrance to the hallway.

The corridor was long and narrow, and it was lit by a single dim light about halfway down. Peter counted four doorways along its length, but only the far one had light coming out from underneath. As they crept down the hallway, Peter could start to hear voices. They stood outside the last doorway for a moment, listening to what was going on inside. Peter thought he heard Neal taunting somebody. He couldn't help but roll his eyes, leave it to Neal to be killed over a stupid wise crack.

"Three plus Neal." Diana whispered. Peter nodded in agreement.

Peter heard Neal gasp through the closed door. His heart started racing, as he listened to Neal moaning from the other side. He knew they were hurting his partner, but he also knew if he wasn't careful, they would kill them all. He checked his watch; SWAT would be there any minute.

"We've got to wait on SWAT, Peter." Peter clenched his jaw at the reminder.

"I know." He motioned her to follow him back to the entrance.

It wrenched at his heart to leave Neal in there, but knowing all three men were likely armed and looking for blood, they needed to wait for back up. As they crept back through the darkness of the warehouse, Peter could hear vehicles pulling up. He desperately hoped it was the tactical unit, and not more of DeLuca's men. He shot Diana a quick glance; he could tell she was thinking the same thing. Peter tightened his grip on his pistol slightly as he stepped back through the small door in the building, and out into the parking lot. He felt relief flush over him at the sight of the big black trucks, and he holstered his gun as he approached, looking for the team leader.

"We've got at least three in there, other than our man." Peter tried to keep his voice calm and collected. "Across the warehouse, there's a small hallway in the north east corner. They're in the last door down on the right."

The large man nodded and jogged back to the vans. Peter watched as the team prepared to go in, he didn't plan on being far behind. Diana came and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I've called an ambulance. They're going to wait two blocks out." Peter just nodded.

He could feel his hands starting to shake, and shoved them down into the pockets of his wool overcoat. His mind kept going back to the sound of Neal moaning through the doorway. It made him sick to think what they were doing to him. It wasn't supposed to have been this way, Agent Murphy was supposed to have kept him safe. But, Neal had called him Alek, he hadn't been able to identify him as FBI. Was Neal trying to signal him that Murphy was dirty? Peter's gut was saying that he was, and that Agent Rodricks was dead. The thought didn't bode well for Neal. Now, all he could do was wait, and he hoped Neal could too.

"Boss." Diana's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "They're ready to move in."

Peter followed the tactical unit through the building, with Diana close beside him. They moved through the darkness quickly and quietly until they reached the little dimly lit hallway. One by one, the members of the SWAT team scurried down the corridor, taking up their positions outside the last door. Peter and Diana hung back, not wanting to be in the way. There was a lingering silence as the team settled, making hand motions to synchronize themselves. There was a loud bang as the door was breached, the tactics team rushing through the door with their semi-automatic rifles at the ready. Peter could hear them order the men inside down on the ground, anxiously waiting for them to secure the room. After what seemed like an eternity, the team leader finally emerged back into the hallway.

"We're secure. You're going to want to call that ambulance in for your man." Diana nodded in response and pulled out her cell phone.

"DeLuca in there?" Peter tried not to run the length of the hallway.

"Yes sir. Before you go in there, I should tell you." Peter braced for bad news. "The man that was holding the knife to Caffrey, was your undercover agent."

"He's not undercover. He's dirty." Peter growled as he passed the tactical leader, stepping through the doorway.

The room was small and dark, except for one halogen light and the SWAT's weapon lights. Peter carefully stepped over and around the three men being handcuffed. His breath hitched as he finally laid eyes on Neal. He was slumped forward in the chair, and there was blood dripping from his nose and the top of his head, trailing all the way down his neck and onto his sweatshirt. His breaths were coming in short ragged bursts.

"P…tr…" Neal's eyes were frantic as they looked up at him, unable to hide the pain he was in.

Peter reached out and carefully eased him back, letting the tension off of his arms. The fabric under his hand was too wet, and he felt sick at the realization. He dropped his eyes to confirm his fear, now seeing the stab wound in Neal's left shoulder.

"I need a knife…anybody…" Peter's eyes landed on Diana, pleading. "We've got to get him loose."

Diana borrowed a knife off of one of the SWAT members as they hauled DeLuca and the other men out of the room. Crossing over to where Peter was, she carefully cut the tape from around Neal's wrists as Peter steadied him.

"Peter…" Neal's head rolled back, his eyes no longer frantic. "I'm right here."

"It's alright buddy. We've got you." He pushed his hand tightly down on the wound, watching a flash of pain cross Neal's face.

"I'm right here…" Neal repeated himself, his eyes starting to glass over.

"Where's the damn ambulance?" Peter shouted to no one in particular.


	18. Chapter 18

I don't own White Collar or the Characters...if I did I wouldn't have to entertain myself this way!

Chapter Eighteen

Peter paced the ER waiting room, occasionally glancing to where Elizabeth sat. His heart was wracked with remorse; he should never have agreed to let Neal go in like that. Wasn't it his job to protect Neal? It certainly wasn't his job to offer him up to the mob on a silver platter. He'd gone and told Murphy that Neal would be home unguarded; not knowing the agent was a traitor. That seemed to be going around the O.C. division lately. It would be a long time before he trusted another agent with Neal; they just all seemed to be out to get him, one way or another.

He was getting all too familiar with this room, and he didn't like it. The cheery Christmas decorations seemed out of place. They certainly didn't improve his mood. He checked his watch, it was past two am. He felt a pair of soft hands wrap around his waist from behind, and he stopped pacing, hanging his head just a little, pulling in a strained breath.

"This isn't your fault." Elizabeth gave him a little squeeze.

He turned inside her arms, so that he was facing her. He knew she was just trying to comfort him, to make him stop worrying, but down inside he knew he had willingly put Neal in harm's way. He was thankful that she was here with him, normally she always made him feel better; but tonight, he wasn't sure anything would. He just felt so damn guilty.

"Yes…this time it is. I should have known better. I never should have let him go in." He sank his head down in her long brown hair; the familiar smell of her was comforting.

"Honey, you and I both know that Neal would have found a way to do this, with or without your help. At least this way you were there to protect him." Peter lifted his head and looked down at her.

"Protect him? I didn't protect him. He's back in the hospital because I _couldn't_ protect him." Peter could feel his hands start to tremble; he pulled out of Elizabeth's arms, shoving his hands down in his pockets. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"I'm right here, Peter." Neal's voice made Peter just about jump out of his skin.

"How long have you been standing there?" Peter turned to face his partner.

"Long enough." He flashed a smile in Peter's direction.

Neal stood leaning up against the doorway to the waiting room. Peter slowly checked him over. The blood soaked turtleneck and sweatshirt had been replaced with a hospital blue scrub top. His left arm was supported in a sling. Peter could see the start of two black eyes from the broken nose, but underneath the bruises, his blue eyes were clear. Relief pulsed through Peter's veins, and he felt his whole body relax just a bit.

"Neal…"

"Peter…" Neal raised an eye brow, and tried to look playful, but he was too tired to pull it off.

"Let's get out of here." Peter offered, handing him a wool jacket that Elizabeth had brought over. He was grateful Neal let the previous conversation drop.

"I thought you'd never ask." This time there was a slight twinkle in his eye.

.

When Neal awoke, the late morning sun was streaming in through the windows. He rolled over, burying his head in the pillows, letting out a small moan. He really didn't want to get out of bed; it was the first night's sleep he had had in his own bed in ten days. He could hear laughter coming from the kitchen. It took his brain a moment to remember that Peter and Elizabeth had stayed in June's guest room last night. This morning, actually, he reminded himself, which is why he wanted to stay right where he was. But apparently, his sleeping was doomed, as he heard Peter's voice casually chatting away. He carefully dug himself out from under the pillows, sitting up slowly, guarding his left arm. He grabbed his bathrobe, easing it over his bandaged shoulder before slipping it on the rest of the way. The smell of the Italian Roast was filling the apartment, and it was calling his name. He softly padded over to the dining table where Elizabeth was sitting, taking a seat next to her.

"I'll take a cup." He called to Peter, only half teasing.

"Oh, so what…I have to wait on you now?" Peter turned to face Neal; his manner was relaxed and playful.

"Hey…I think I've earned it." He grinned back at Peter, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Elizabeth patted his arm gently.

"You've done more than your share Neal. I'm just glad you're alright." She cast an ominous glance at Peter. "He takes his black."

Peter just rolled his eyes, and chuckled to himself. He was glad things were getting back to normal; Neal being cunning, Elizabeth being motherly, the two of them ganging up on him. Trying to keep an eye on Neal was hard enough on a daily basis, without all the madness of the past week and a half. He poured Neal a cup, and refilled his own before heading back to the table, sitting across from Neal and Elizabeth.

"Hughes called this morning. They're indicting DeLuca this afternoon. We're on leave until the New Year." He leaned back in his chair a little and sipped his coffee, watching Neal.

"So…" Neal spoke up after a minute, his voice was blithful. "We going to get that Christmas tree today?"

"How did you know about that?" Peter was a little taken back, but not entirely surprised. It was hard to keep anything from Neal.

"Peter…" He flashed a wide playful grin, his blue eyes filled with delight.

Peter just smiled into his coffee cup. Yes, things were truly back to the way they should be.

THE END


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